’ * r . » 4 4 






^ ^ 'a 


" '»lf Eg: 

# W?!' “f '"P 


i-ti 

’y/' - ■. -yy^ 

y/^ • ' '•Yy^ 

'yy' 








/ 4'. 




f.i. 


w' 


aj{. r Vv ;?% 

55J.V : 


yA‘ 

^j'r' .'VVX 

* 


» ' 

I y • I • ' 

^/yxy.f 






r. 


‘I :*:* 


Hi 
















„ i. - . Ai ••:!?: , > . i : •, :'. , 

•-'T- f .v^.1 • ‘ ' ••• %!• *J\ • ,*. ,r . • 1* . . ^ 

V.' ■-'•v7 i-. • .* . ' • • » -1 . ‘ .■■'>. .■ • • .1 ■■ 

'•» V-fcr .v '■: •■ ?y. ■’ 

^, ',, T ' ' ' ' ' uJ) ' 

ijj*; J .*•• >. v»?’ v,:^ v'. ' . 







^ '•xO U^' 




V.' :' 

• I 




, ■ \ -A-#.;.': 


f • ^ 

r » / 


ifv •»•'■ ‘ ■ 


•tf A 




9 • 

A t 


■v Vife: *V' ^ ; '-V-V' ’ 


N 


I . . , » v I,' I 

• . I Ar» . 

! S-V ■ ‘ ' 


. ■ 

I I 






% • 
s 











I 

I 

I 


t 


i 

> 

i 






— 

A COUNTRY DOCTOR. A Novel. i6mo, 51.25. 

This is Miss Jewett’s first novel, her former efforts having been 
confined to short stories. To a plot of unusual interest she brings, 
as a physician’s daughter, a close familiarity with the incidents of a 
doctor’s life ; and this, combined with wonderful acuteness of obser- 
vation and a graceful style, make a book of very unusual interest. 

THE MATE OF THE DAYLIGHT. i8mo, 51.25. 

The stories abound with character sketches which are perfect in their 
way, and there is about all of them a sweet and wholesome and rural 
flavor, as of the lavender-scented linen with which the old-time presses 
of country housewives used to be filled. — New York Tribune. 

COUNTR Y BY-WA YS. i8mo, gilt top, 5 i- 2 S- 

Her portraiture of N ew England characters and scenes is inimitable. 
— The Critic [ya.G.'N York). 

DEEPHA YEN. “ Little Classic” style. i8mo, 5 »- 2 S- 

It is a common thing to say about a book that it is charming, or 
interesting, or absorbing, and very often it is said wjthout any par- 
ticuiar meaning or interest. But here is a book which is really all 
three. — Boston Transcript. 

OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. “ Little Classic ” style. i8mo, 
51 - 25 - 

Seven charming short stories. . . . The autumn is not_ likely to 
bring anything more wholly delightful to lovers of the best light liter- 
ature. — New York Evening Post. 

PL A Y DA F 5 . Stories for Children. Square i6mo, 5 '-^°- 

If Santa Claus neglects to leave a copy of “ Play Days” in any 
household where there is a little girl, he is n’t the kind of Santa Claus 
we take him for. — Boston Transcript. 

•** For sale by Booksellers, or sent, post paid, on receipt 0/ price 
by the Publishers, 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston, Mass. 



DEEP HA YEN. 


BY 


SARAH Oj^^WETT. 

n 



BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 
New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street. 

(Srfce Riberj^iUe pwM ^TamftnDof* 

1885. 




T/3 

.■^SS 


Copyright, 1877. 

By James r. osgood & co. 




; ■ >^0 -i 

' * n 

i ‘; » 

U' 


I 


5' 


L 


1 


CAMBRIDGE : PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS. 


PEEFAOE. 


book is not wholly new, several of 
chapters having already been pub- 
id in the “Atlantic Monthly.” 

It has so often been asked if Deephaven may 
not be found on the map of New England under 
another name, that, to prevent any misunderstand- 
ing, I wish to say, while there is a likeness to be 
traced, few of the sketches are drawn from that 
town itself, and the characters will in almost 
every case be looked for there in vain. 

I dedicate this story of out-of-door life and 
country people first to my father and mother, my 
two best friends, and also to all my other friends, 
whose names I say to myself lovingly, though I 
do not write their here. 



S. 0. J. 



4 


i 


I 

*■ 



CONTEISTTS. 


Kate Lancaster’s Plan 9 

The Brandon House and the Lighthouse . 22 

My Lady Brandon 41 

Deephaven Society 68 

The Captains 86 

Danny 98 

Captain Sands 114 

The Circus at Denby 124 

Cunner-Fishing 149 

Mrs. Bonny 188 

In Shadow 204 

Miss Chauncey 224 

Last Days in Deephaven 241 




>> 


Exchange 

^rary of Supreme Council 

Aufi ia.i»4o 






( 





t 


K 

*1 


«' 



KATE LANCASTER’S PLAN. 

HAD been spending the winter in Bos- 
ton, and Kate Lancaster and I had been 
together a great deal, for we are the best 
of friends. It happened that the morning when 
this story begins I had waked up feeling sorry, 
and as if something dreadful were going to Jiap- 
pen. There did not seem to be any good reason 
for it, so I undertook to discourage myself more 
by thinking that it would soon be time to leave 
town, and how much I should miss being with 
Kate and my other friends. My mind was still 
disquieted when I went down to breakfast; but 
beside my plate I found, with a hoped-for letter 
from my father, a note from Kate. To this day 
I have never known any explanation of that de- 
pression of my spirits, and I hope that the good 
luck which followed will help some reader to lose 
fea^and to smile at such shadows if any chance 
to come. 



1 » 


10 


BEEP HA VEN. 


Kate had evidently written to me in an excited 
state of mind, for her note was not so trig-looking 
as usual ; but this is what she said : — 

Dear Helen, — I have a plan — 1 think it a most de- 
lightful plan — in which you and 1 are chief characters. 
Promise that you will say yes ; if you do not you will have 
to remember all your life that you broke a girl’s heart. 
Come round early, and lunch with me and dine with me. 

1 ’m to be all alone, and it ’s a long story and will need a 
gr eat deal of talking over. 

I showed this note to my aunt, and soon went 
round, very much interested. My latch - key 
opened the Lancasters’ door, and I hurried to the 
parlor, where I heard my friend practising with 
great diligence. I went up to her, and she turned 
her head and kissed me solemnly. You need not 
smile ; we are not sentimental girls, and are both 
much averse to indiscriminate kissing, though 
I have not the adroit habit of shying in which 
Kate is proficient. It would sometimes be im- 
polite in any one else, but she shies so affection- 
ately, 

“Won’t you sit down, dear I” she said, with 
great ceremony, and went on with her playing, 
which was abominable that morning ; her fingers 
stepped on each other, and, whatever the tune 


KATE LANCASTER'S PLAN. 


11 


might have been in reality, it certainly had a 
most remarkable incoherence as I heard it then. 
I took up the new Littell and made believe read 
it, and finally threw it at Kate ; you would have 
thought we were two children. 

“ Have you heard that my grand-aunt, Miss 
Katharine Brandon of Deephaven, is deadl” I 
knew that she had died in November, at least six 
months before. 

“ Don’t be nonsensical, Kate ! ” said I. “ What 
is it you are going to tell me 1 ” 

“ My grand-aunt died very old, and was the last 
of her generation. She had a sister and three 
brothers, one of whom had the honor of being my 
gi-andfather. Mamma is sole heir to the family 
estates in Deephaven, wharf-property and all, and 
it is a great inconvenience to her. The house is 
a charming old house, and some of my ancestors 
who followed the sea brought home the greater 
part of its furnishings. Miss Katharine was a 
person who ignored all frivolities, and her house 
was as sedate as herself. I have been there but 
little, for when I was a child my aunt found no 
pleasure in the society of noisy children who upset 
her treasures, and when I was older she did 
not care to see strangers, and after I left school 


12 


DEEPHA VEiY. 


she grew more and more feeble ; I had not been 
there for two years when she died. Mamma went 
down very often. The town is a quaint old place 
which has seen better days. There are high rocks 
at the shore, and there is a beach, and there are 
woods inland, and hills, and there is the sea. It 
might be dull in Deephaven for two young ladies 
who were fond of gay society and dependent upon 
excitement, I suppose ; but for two little girls who 
were fond of each other and could play in the 
boats, and dig and build houses in the sea-sand, 
and gather shells, and carry their dolls wherever 
they went, what could be pleasanter!” 

“ Nothing,” said I, promptly. 

Kate had told this a little at a time, with a few 
appropriate bars of music between, which suddenly 
reminded me of the story of a Chinese procession 
which I had read in. one of Marryat’s novels when 
I was a child : “ A thousand white elephants richly 
caparisoned, — ti-tum tilly-lily,” and so on, for a 
page or two. She seemed to have finished her 
story for that time, and while it was dawning upon 
me what she meant, she sang a bit from one of 
Jean Ingelow’s verses : — 

“ Will ye step aboard, my dearest, 

For the high seas lie before us ? ” 


KATE LANCASTER'S PLAN. 


13 


and then came over to sit beside me and tell the 
whole story in a more sensible fashion. 

“You know that my father has been meaning 
to go to England in the autumn 1 Yesterday 
he told us that he is to leave in a month and will 
be away all summer, and mamma is going with 
him. Jack and Willy are to join a party of their 
classmates who are to spend nearly the whole of 
the long vacation at Lake Superior. I don’t care 
to go abroad again now, and I did not like any 
plan that was proposed to me. Aunt Anna was 
here all the afternoon, and she is going to take the 
house at Newport, which is very pleasant and 
unexpected, for she hates housekeeping. Mamma 
thought of course that I would go with her, but I 
did not wish to do that, and it would only result 
in my keeping house for her visitors, whom I know 
very little ; and she will be much more free and 
independent by herself. Beside, she can have my 
room if I am not there. I have promised to 
make her a long visit in Baltimore next winter 
instead. I told mamma that I should like to stay 
here and go away when I choose. There are ever 
so many visits which I have promised ; I could 
stay with you and your Aunt Mary at Lenox if she 
goes there, for a while, and I have always wished 


14 


DEEPHA VEN.^ 


to spend a summer in town ; but mamma did not 
encourage that at all. In the eA^ening papa gave 
her a letter which had come from Mr, Dockum, 
the man who takes care of Aunt Katharine’s place, 
and the most charming idea came into my head, 
and I said I meant to spend my summer in Deep- 
haven, 

“ At first they laughed at me, and then they said 
I might go if 1 chose, and at last they thought 
.nothing could be pleasanter, and mamma wishes 
she were going herself, I asked if she did not 
think you would be the best person to keep me 
company, and she does, and papa announced that 
he was just going to suggest my asking you, I 
am to take Ann and Maggie, who will be overjoyed, 
for they came from that part of the country, and 
the other servants are to go with Aunt Anna, and 
old Nora will come to take care of this house, as 
she always does’. Perhaps you and I will come 
up to town once in a while for a few days. We 
shall have such jolly housekeeping. Mamma and 
I sat up very late last night, and everything is 
planned, Mr, Dockum’s house is very near Aunt 
Katharine’s, so we shall not be lonely ; though I 
know you ’re no more afraid of that than I. 0 
Helen, won’t you go 1 ” 


KATE LANCASTER'S PLAN. 


15 


Do you think it took me long to decide 1 
Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster sailed the 10th of June, 
and my Aunt Mary went to spend her summer 
among the Berkshire Hills, so I was at the Lan- 
casters’ ready to welcome Kate when she came 
home, after having said good by to her father and 
mother. We meant to go to Deephaveu in a week, 
hut were obliged to stay in town longer. Boston 
was nearly deserted of our friends at the last, and 
we used to take quiet walks in the cool of the 
evening after dinner, up and down the street, or 
sit on the front steps in company with the servants 
left in charge of the other houses, who also some- 
times walked up and down and looked at us won- 
deringly. We had much shopping to do in the 
daytime, for there was a probability of our spend- 
ing many days in doors, and as we were not to be 
near any large town, and did not mean to come to 
Boston for weeks at least, there was a gi’eat deal 
to be remembered and aiTanged. We enjoyed 
making our plans, and deciding what we should 
want, and going to the shops together. I thivik 
we felt most important the day we conferred with 
Ann and made out a list of the provisions which 
must be ordered. This was being housekeepers in 
earnest. Mr. Dockum happened to come to town, 


16 


DEEPHA VEN. 


and we sent Ann and Maggie, with most of our 
boxes, to Deephaven in his company a day or two 
before we were ready to go ourselves, and when 
we reached there the house was opened and in 
order for us. 

On our journey to Deephaven we left the railway 
twelve miles from that place, and took passage 
in a stage-coach. There was only one passenger 
beside ourselves. She was a very large, thin, 
weather-beaten woman, and looked so tired and 
lonesome and good-natured, that I could not help 
saying it was very dusty ; and she was apparently 
delighted to answer that she should think every- 
body was sweeping, and she always felt, after being 
in the cars a while, as if she had been taken all to 
pieces and left in the different places. And this 
was the beginning of our friendship with Mrs. 
Kew. 

After this conversation we looked industriously 
out of the window into the pastures and pine- 
woods. I had given up my seat to her, for I do 
not mind riding backward in the least, and you 
would have thought I had done her the greatest 
favor of her life. I think she was the most grate- 
ful of women, and I was often reminded of a 
remark one of my friends once made about some 


KATE LANCASTER'S PLAN. 


17 , 


oue : “ If you give Bessie a half-sheet of letter- 
paper, she behaves to you as if it were the most 
exquisite of presents ! ” Kate and I had some 
fruit left in our lunch-basket, and divided it with 
Mrs. Kew, but after the first mouthful we looked 
at each other in dismay. “ Lemons with oranges’ 
clothes on, are n’t they % ” said she, as Kate threw 
hers out of the window, and mine went after it for 
company; and after this we began to be very 
friendly indeed. We both liked the odd woman, 
there was something so straightforward and kindly 
about her. 

“ Are you going to Deephaven, dear 1 ” she asked 
me, and then : “ I wonder if you are going to stay 
long! All summer! Well, that ’s clever ! Ido 
hope you will come out to the Light to see me ; 
young folks ’most always like my place. Most 
likely your friends will fetch you.” 

“Do you know the Brandon house!” asked 
Kate. 

“Well as I do the meeting-house. There! 
I wonder I did n’t know from the beginning, but I 
have been a trying all the way to settle it who 
you could be. I ’ve been up country some weeks, 
stopping with my mother, and she seemed so set 
to have me stay till strawberry-time, and would 

B 


18 


DEEPHA VEN. 


hardly let me come now. You see she ’s getting 
to be old ; why, every tin)e I ’ve come away for 
fifteen years she ’s said it was the last time I ’d 
ever see her, but she ’s a dreadful smart woman of 
her age. ‘ He ’ wrote me some o’ Mrs. Lancaster’s 
folks were going to take the Brandon house this 
summer ; and so you are the ones 1 It ’s a sightly 
old place ; I used to go and see Miss Katharine. 
She must have left a power of china-ware. She 
set a great deal by the hotisej and she kept every- 
thing just as it used to be in her mother’s day.” 

“Then you live in Deephaven tool” asked 
'Kate. 

“ I ’ve been here the better part of my life. I 
was raised up among the hills in Vermont, and 
I shall always be a real up-counti'y woman if I live 
here a hundred years. The sea does n’t come 
natural to me, it kind of worries me, though you 
won’t find a happier woman than I be, ’long shore. 
When I was first married ‘ he ’ had a schooner and 
went to the banks, and once he was off on a 
whaling vo 3 ’’age, and I hope I may never come to 
so long a three years as those were again, though 
I was up to mother’s. Before I was married he 
had been ’most everywhere. When he came home 
that time from whaling, he found I ’d taken it so 


KATE LANCASTER'S PLAN. 


19 


to heart that he said he ’d never go off again, and 
then he got the chance to keep Deephaven Light, 
and we’ve lived there seventeen yeara come Jan- 
uary. There is n’t great pay, but then nobody 
tries to get it away from us, and we ’ve got so ’s 
to be contented, if it is lonesome in winter.” 

“ Do you really live in the lighthouse 1 I re- 
member how I used to beg to be taken out there 
when I was a child, and how I used to watch for 
the light at night,” said Kate, enthusiastically. 

So began a friendship which we both still 
treasure, for knowing Mrs. Kew was one of the 
pleasantest things which happened to us in that 
delightful summer, and she used to do so much 
for our pleasure, and was so good to us. When 
we went out to the lighthouse for the last time to 
say good by, we were very sorry girls indeed. We 
had no idea until then how much she cared for us, 
and her affection touched us very much. She 
told us that she loved us as if we belonged to her, 
and begged us not to forget her, — as if we ever 
could ! — and to remember that there was always 
a home and a warm heart for us if she were alive. 
Kate and I have often agreed that few of our 
acquaintances are half so entertaining. Her com- 
parisons were most striking and amusing, and her 


20 


DEEPHA VEN. 


comments upon the books she read — for she was 
a great reader — were very shrewd and clever, 
and always to the point. She was never out of 
temper, even when the barrels of oil were being 
rolled across her kitchen floor. And she was such 
a wise woman ! This stage-ride, which we expected 
to find tiresome, we enjoyed very much, and we 
were glad to think, when the coach stopped, and 
“ he ” came to meet her with great satisfaction, 
that we had one friend in Deephaveu at all events. 

I liked the house from my very first sight of it. 
It stood behind a row of poplars which were as 
green and flourishing as the poplars which stand 
in stately processions in the fields around Quebec. 
It was an imposing great white house, and the 
lilacs were tall, and there were crowds of rose- 
bushes not yet out of bloom ; and there were box 
borders, and there were great elms at the side of 
the house and down the road. The hall door 
stood wide open, and my hostess turned to me as 
we went in, with one of her sweet, sudden smiles. 
“Won’t we have a good time, Nelly!” said she. 
And I thought we should. 

So our summer’s housekeeping began in most 
pleasant fashion. It was just at sunset, and Ann’s 
and Maggie’s presence made the house seem fa- 


KAT^ lANQASTEKS PLAN. 


21 


miliar at once. Maggie had been unpacking for 
us, and there was a delicious supper ready for the 
hungry girls. Later in the evening we went down 
to the shore, which was not very far away ; the 
fresh sea-air was welcome after the dusty day, and 
it seemed so quiet and pleasant in Deephaven. 




THE BRANDON HOUSE AND THE LIGHT- 
HOUSE. 

DO not know that the Brandon house is 
really very remarkable, but I never have 
been in one that interested me in the 
same way. Kate used to recount to select audi- 
ences at school some of her experiences with her 
Aunt Katharine, and it was popularly believed 
that she once carried down some indestructible 
picture-books when they were first in fashion, and 
the old lady basted them for her to hem round 
the edges at the rate of two a day. It may have 
been fabulous. It was impossible to imagine any 
children in the old place ; everything was for grown 
people ; even the stair-railing was too high to slide 
down on. The chairs looked as if they had been 
put, at the fui'iiishing of the house, in their places, 
and there they meant to remain. The carpets were 
particularly interesting, and 1 remember Kate’s 
pointing out to me one day a great square figure 



THE BRAXDOX HOUSE. 


23 


in one, and telling me she used to keep house there 
with her dolls for lack of a better play-house, and 
if one of them chanced to fall outside the boundary 
stripe, it was immediately put to bed with a cold. 
It is a house with gi-eat possibilities; it might 
easily be made charming. There are four very 
large rooms on the lower floor, and six above, a 
wide hall in each story, and a fascinating garret 
over the whole, where were many mysterious old 
chests and boxes, in one of which we found Kate’s 
grandmother’s love-letters ; and you may be sure 
the vista of rummages which Mr. Lancaster had 
laughed about was explored to its very end. The 
rooms all have elaborate cornices, and the lower 
hall is very fine, with an archway dividing it, and 
panellings of all sorts, and a great door at each 
end, through which the lilacs in front and the old 
pensioner plum-trees in the garden are seen ex- 
changing bows and gestures. Coming from the 
Lancasters’ high city house, it did not seem as if 
we had to go up stairs at all there, for every step 
of the stairway is so broad and low, and you 
come half-way to a square landing with an oM 
straight-backed chair in each farther corner ; and 
between them a large, round-topped window, with 
a cushioned seat, looking out on the garden and 


24 


DEEPHA VEN. 


the village, the hills far inland, and the sunset 
beyond all. Then you turn and go up a few more 
steps to the upper hall, where we used to stay a 
great deal. There were more old chairs and a pair 
of remarkable sofas, on which we used to deposit 
the treasures collected in our wanderings. The 
wide window which looks out on the lilacs and the 
sea was a favorite seat of ours. Facing each other 
on either side of it are two old secretaries, and one 
of them we ascertained to be the hiding-place* of 
secret drawers, in which may be found valuable 
records deposited by ourselves one rainy day when 
we first explored it. We wrote, between us, a 
tragic “journal” on some yellow old letter-paper 
we found in the desk. We put it in the most hid- 
den drawer by itself, and flatter ourselves that it 
wdll be regarded with great interest some time or 
other. Of one of the front rooms, “ the best 
chamber,” we stood rather in dread. It is very 
remarkable that there seem to be no ghost-stories 
connected with any part of the hoTise, particularly 
this. We are neither of us nervous; but there 
is certainly something dismal about the room. 
The huge curtained bed and immense easy-chairs, 
windows, and everything were draped in some old- 
fashioned kind of white cloth which always seemed 


THE BRANDON HOUSE. 


25 


to be waving and moving about of itself. The 
carpet was most singularly colored with dark 
reds and indescribable grays and browns, and 
the pattern, after a whole summer’s study, could 
never be followed with one’s eye. The paper was 
captui-ed in a French prize somewhere some time 
in the last century, and part of the figure was 
shaggy, and therein little spiders found habitation, 
and went visiting their acquaintances across the 
shmy places. The color was an unearthly pink 
and a forbidding maroon, with dim white spots, 
which gave it the appearance of having moulded. 
It made you low-spirited to look long in the 
mirror j and the great lounge one could not have 
cheerful associations with, after hearing that Miss 
Brandon herself did not like it, having seen so 
many of her relatives lie there dead. There were 
fantastic china ornaments from Bible subjects on 
the mantel, and the only picture was one of the 
Maid of Orleans tied with an unnecessarily strong 
rope to a very stout stake. The best parlor we 
also rarely used, because all the portraits which 
hung there had for some unaccountable reason 
taken a violent dislike to us, and followed us sus- 
piciously with their eyes. The furniture was 
stately and very uncomfortable, and there was 


26 


DEEPHA VEN. 


something about the room which suggested an in- 
visible funeral. 

There is not very much to say about the dining- 
room. It was not specially interesting, though 
the sea was in sight from one of the windows. 
There w'ere some old Dutch pictures on the wall, 
so dark that one could scarcely make out what 
they were meant to represent, and one or two 
engravings. There was a huge sideboard, for 
which Kate had brought down from Boston Miss 
Brandon’s own silver which had stood there for so 
many years, and looked so much more at home 
and in place than any other possibly could have 
looked, and Kate also found in the closet the three 
great decanters with silver labels chained round 
their necks, which had alwa^^s been the compan- 
ions of the tea-service in her aunt’s lifetime. 
From the little closets in the sideboard there 
came a most significant odor of cake and wine 
whenever one opened the doors. We used Miss 
Brandon’s beautiful old blue India china which 
she had given to Kate, and which had been care- 
fully packed all wintei*. Kate sat at the head and 
I at the foot of the round table, and I must con- 
fess that we were apt to have either a feast or a 
famine, for at first we often forgot to provide our 


THE BRANDON HOUSE. 


27 


dinners. If this were the case Maggie was sure to 
serve us with most derisive elegance, and make us 
wait for as much ceremony as she thought neces- 
sary for one of Mrs. Lancaster’s dinner-parties. 

The west parlor was our favorite room down 
stairs. It had a great fireplace framed in blue 
and white Dutch tiles which ingeniously and in- 
structively represented the careers of the good and 
the bad man ; the starting-place of each being a 
very singular cradle in the centre at the top. The 
last two of the series are very high art : a great 
coffin stands in the foreground of each, and the 
virtuous man is being led off by two disagreeable- 
looking angels, while the wicked one is hastening 
from an indescribable but unpleasant assemblage 
of claws and horns and eyes which is rapidly 
advancing from the distance, oijen-mouthed, and 
bringing a chain with it. 

There was a large cabinet holding all the small 
curiosities anc knick-knacks there seemed to be no 
other place for, — odd china figures and cups and 
vases, unaccountable Chinese carvings and ex- 
quisite corals and sea-shells, minerals and Swiss 
wood-work, and articles of vertu from the South 
Seas. Underneath were stored boxes of letters 
and old magazines ; for this was one of the houses 


28 


DEEPHA YEN. 


where nothing seems to have been thrown away. 
In one parting we found a parcel of old manuscript 
sermons, the existence of which was a myster}’-, 
until Kate remembered there had been a gifted 
son of the house who entered the ministry and 
soon died. The windows had each a pane of 
stained glass, and on the wide sills we used to put 
our immense bouquets of field-flowers. There was 
one place which I liked and sat in more than any 
other. The chimney filled nearly the whole side 
of the room, all but this little corner, where there 
was just room for a very comfortable high-backed 
cushioned chair, and a narrow window where I 
always had a bunch of fresh green ferns in a tall 
champagne-glass. I used to write there often, and 
always sat there when Kate sang and played. She 
sent for a tuner, and used to successfully coax the 
long-imprisoned music from the antiquated piano, 
and sing for her visitors by the hour. She almost 
always sang her oldest songs, for they seemed most 
in keeping with everything about us. I used to 
fancy that the portraits liked our being there. 
There was one young girl who seemed solitary 
and forlorn among the I'cst m the room, who were 
all middle-aged. For their part they looked amia- 
ble, but rather unhappy, as if she had come in 


THE BRANDON HOUSE. 


29 


and interrupted their conversation. We both grew 
very fond of her, and it seemed, when we went in 
the last morning on purpose to take leave of her, 
as if she looked at us imploringly. She was soon 
afterward boxed up, and now enjoys society after 
her own heart in Kate’s room in Boston. 

There was the largest sofa I ever saw opposite 
the fireplace ; it must have been brought in in 
pieces, and built in the room. It was broad 
enough for Kate and me to lie on together, and 
very high and square ; but there was a pile of soft 
cushions at one end. We used to enjoy it greatly 
in September, when the evenings were long and 
cool, and we had many candles, and a fire — and 
crickets too — on the hearth, and the dear dog 
lying on the rug. I remember one rainy night, 
just before Miss Tennant and Kitty Bruce went 
away ; we had a real drift-wood fire, and blew out 
the lights and told stories. Miss Margaret knows 
so many and tells them so well. Kate and I were 
unusually entertaining, for we became familiar 
with the family record of the town, and could re- 
count marvellous adventures by land and sea, and 
ghost-stories by the dozen. We had never either 
of us been in a society consisting of so many trav- 
elled people ! Hardly a man but had been the 


30 


DEEPHA VEN. 


most of his life at sea. Speaking of ghost-stories, 
I must tell you that once in the summer two Cam- 
bridge girls who were spending a week with us un- 
wisely enticed us into giving some thrilling recitals, 
which nearly frightened them out of their wits, 
and Kate and I were finally in terror ourselves. 
We had all been on the sofa in the dark, singing 
and talking, and were waiting in great suspense 
after I had finished one of such particular horror 
that I declared it should be the last, when we 
heard footsteps on the hall stairs. There were 
lights in the dining-room which shone faintly 
through the half-closed door, and we saw some- 
thing white and shapeless come slowly down, and 
clutched each other’s gowns in agony. It was only 
Kate’s dog, who came in and laid his head in her 
lap and slept peacefully. We thought w^e could 
not sleep a wink after this, and I bravely went 
alone out to the light to see my watch, and, find- 
ing it was past twelve, we concluded to sit up all 
night and to go down to the shore at sunrise, it 
would be so much easier than getting up early 
some morning. We had been out rowing and had 
taken a long walk the day before, and were obliged 
to dance and make other slight exertions to keep 
ourselves awake at one time. We lunched at two, 


THE, BRANDON HOUSE. 


31 


and I never shall forget the sunrise that morning ; 
but we were singularly quiet and abstntcted that 
day, and indeed for several days after Deephaven 
was “ a land in which it seemed always afternoon,” 
we breakfasted so late. 

As Mrs. Kew had said, there was “ a power of 
china.” Kate and I were convinced that the 
lives of her grandmothers must have been spent 
in giving tea-parties. We counted ten sets of 
cups, beside quantities of stray ones; and some 
member of the family had evidently devoted her 
time to making a collection of pitchers. 

There was an escritoire in Miss Brandon’s own 
room, which we looked over one day. There was 
a little package of letters ; ship letters mosth% 
tied with a very pale and tired-looking blue rib- 
bon. They were in a drawer with a locket hold- 
ing a faded miniature on ivory and a lock of brown 
hair, and there were also some dry twigs and bits 
of leaf which had long ago been bright wild- 
roses, such as still bloom among the Deephaven 
rocks. Kate said that she had often heard her 
mother wonder why her aunt never had cared to 
marry, for she had chances enough doubtless, and 
had been rich and handsome and finely educated. 
So there was a sailor lover after all, and perhaps 


32 


DEEPHA VEN. 


he had been lost at sea and she faithfully kept the 
secret, never mourning outwardly. “ And I always 
thought her the most matter-of-fact old lady,” said 
Kate ; yet here ’s her romance, after all.” We 
put the letters outside on a chair to read, but 
afterwards c.arefully replaced them, without unty- 
ing them. I ’m glad we did. There were other 
letters which we did read, and which interested us 
very much, — letters from her girl friends written 
in the boarding-school vacations, and just after 
she finished school. Those ’in one of the smaller 
packages were charming ; it must have been such 
a bright, nice girl who wrote them ! They were 
very few, and were tied with black ribbon, and 
marked on the outside in girlish writing : “ My 
dearest friend, Dolly McAllister, died September 
3, 1809, aged eighteen.” The ribbon had evi- 
dently been untied and the letters read many 
times. One began : “ My dear, delightful Kitten : 
I am quite overjoyed to find my father has busi- 
ness which will force him to go to Deephaven next 
week, and he kindly says if there be no more rain 
I may ride wnth him to see you. I wdll surely 
come, for if there is danger of spattering my gown, 
and he bids me stay at home, I shall go galloping 
after him and overtake him when it is too late to 


THE BRANDON HOUSE. 


33 


send me back. I have so much to tell you.” I 
wish I knew more about the visit. Poor Miss 
Katharine ! it made us sad to look over these 
treasures of her girlhood. There were her com- 
positions and exercise- books ; some samplers and 
queer little keepsakes ; withered flowers and some 
pebbles and other things of like value, with which 
there was probably some pleasant association. 
“ Only think of her keeping them all her days,” 
said I to Kate. “I am continually throwing some 
relic of the kind away, because I forget why I 
have it ! ” / 

There was a box in the lower part which Kate 
was glad to find, for she had heard her mother 
wonder if some such things were not in existence. 
It held a crucifix and a mass-book and some rosaries, 
and Kate told me Miss Katharine’s youngest and 
favorite brother had become a Roman Catholic 
while studying in Europe. It was a dreadful 
blow to the family ; for in those days there could 
have been few deeper disgraces to the Brandon 
family than to have one of its sons go over to 
popery. Only Miss Katharine treated him with 
kindness, and after a time he disappeared without 
telling even her where ho was going, and was only 
heard from indirectly once or twice afterward. It 
2* c 


34 


DEEPS A VEN. 


was a great grief to her. “ And mamma knows,” 
said Kate, “ that she always had a lingering hope 
of his return, for one of the last times she saw 
Aunt Katharine before she was ill she spoke of 
soon going to be with all the rest, and said, 

‘ Though your Uncle Henry, dear,’ — and stopped 
and smiled sadly ; ‘ you ’ll think me a very foolish 
old woman, but I never quite gave up thinking he 
might come home.’ ” 

Mrs. Kew did the honors of the lighthouse 
thoroughly on our first visit ; but I think w'e 
rarely went to see her that we did not make some 
entertaining discovery. Mr. Kew’s nephew, a 
guileless youth of forty, lived with them, and the 
two men were of a mechanical turn and had in- 
vented numerous aids to housekeeping, — appen- 
dages to the stove, and fixtures on the walls for 
everything that could be hung up ; catches in the 
floor to hold the doors open, and ingenious appa- 
ratus to close them ; but, above all, a system of 
baiTing and bolting for the wide “ fore door,” 
which would have disconcerted an energetic bat- 
tering-ram. After all this work being expended, 
Mrs. Kew informed us that it was usually wide 
open all night in summer weather. On the back 


THE BRANDON HOUSE. 


35 


of this door I discovered one day a row of marks, 
and asked their significance. It seemed that Mrs. 
Kew had attempted one summer to keep count of 
the number of people who inquired about the dep- 
redations of the neighbors’ chickens. Mrs. Kew’s 
bedroom was partly devoted to the fine arts. 
There was a large collection of likenesses of her 
relatives and friends on the wall, which was inter- 
esting in the extreme. Mrs. Kew was always 
much pleased to tell their names, and her remarks 
about any feature not exactly perfect were very 
searching and critical. “ That ’s my oldest broth- 
er’s wife, Cloriuthy Adams that was. She ’s well 
featured, if it were not for her nose, and that 
looks as if it had been thrown at her, and she 
was n’t particular about having it on firm, in 
hopes of getting a better one. She sets by her 
looks, though.” 

There were often sailing-parties that came there 
from up and down the coast. One day Kate and I 
were spending the afternoon at the Light ; we had 
been fishing, and were sitting in the doorway lis- 
tening to a reminiscence of the winter Mrs. Kew 
kept school at the Four Corners; saw a boatful 
coming, and all lost our tempers. Mrs. Kew had 
a lame ankle, and Kate offered to go up with the 


36 


DEEPHA VEN. 


visitors. There were some girls and young men 
who stood on the rocks awhile, and then asked 
us, with much better manners than the people 
who usually came, if they could see the light- 
house, and Kate led the way. She was dressed 
that day in a costume we both frequently wore, 
of gray skirts and blue sailor-jacket, and her 
boots were much the worse for wear. The cele- 
brated Lancaster complexion was rather darkened 
by the sun. Mrs. Kew expressed a wish to know 
what questions they would ask her, and I followed 
after a few minutes. They seemed to have fin- 
ished asking about the lantern, and to have be- 
come personal. 

“ Don’t you get tired staying here 1 ” 

“ No, indeed ! ” said Kate. 

“ Is that your sister down stairs 1 ” 

“No, I have no sister.” 

“ I should think you would wish she was. 
Are n’t you ever lonesome 1 ” 

“ Everybody is, sometimes,” said Kate. 

“ But it ’s such a lonesome place ! ” said one of 
the girls. “ I should think you would get work 
away. I live in Boston. Why, it ’s so awful 
quiet ! nothing but the water, and the wind, when 
it blows ; and I think either of them is worse 


THE BRA X DON HOUSE. 


37 


than nothing. And only this little bit of a rocky 
place ! I should want to go to walk.” 

I heai-d Kate pleasantly refuse the offer of pay 
for her services, and then they began to come 
down the steep stairs laughing and chattering 
with each other. Kate stayed behind to close 
the doors and leave everything all right, and the 
girl who had talked the most waited too, and 
when they were on the stairs just above me, and 
the others out of hearing, she said, “ You ’re real 
good to show us the things. I guess you ’ll think 
I ’m silly, but I do like you ever so much ! I 
wish you would come to Boston. I ’m in a real 

nice store, — H ’s, on Winter Street ; and 

they will want new saleswomen in October. Per- 
haps you could be at my counter. I ’d teach you, 
and you could board with me. I ’ve got a real 
comfortable room, and I suppose I might have 
more things, for I get good pay ; but 1 like to 
send money home to mother. I ’m at my aunt’s 
now, but I am going back next Monday, and if 
you will tell me what your name is, I ’ll find out 
for certain about the place, and write you. My 
name ’s Mary Wendell.” 

I knew by Kate’s voice that this had touched 
her. “You are very kind; thank you heartily,” 


38 


DEEPUA VEN. 


said she ; “ but I cannot go and work with you, 
I should like to know more about you. I live in 
Boston too ; my friend and I are staying over in 
Deephaven for the summer only.” And she held 
out her hand to the girl, whose face had changed 
from its first expression of earnest good-humor to 
a very startled one ; and when she noticed Kate’s 
hand, and a ring of hers, which had been turned 
round, she looked really frightened. 

“ 0, w’ill you please excuse me 1 ” said she, 
blushing. “ I ought to have known better ; but 
you showed us round so willing, and I never 
thought of your not living here. I did n’t mean 
to be rude.” 

“ Of course you did not, and you were not. I 
am very glad you said it, and glad you like me,” 
said Kate ; and just then the party called the girl, 
and she hurried away, and I joined Kate. “ Then 
you heard it all. That was worth having ! ” 
said she, “She was such an honest little soul, 
and I mean to look for her when I get home.” 

Sometimes we used to go out to the Light early 
in the morning with the fishermen who went that 
way to the fishing-grounds, but we usually made 
the voyage early in the afternoon if it were not 
too hot, and we went fishing off" the rocks or sat 


THE BRANDON HOUSE. 


39 


in the house -with Mrs. Kew, who often related 
some of her Vermont experiences, or Mr. Kew 
would tell us surprising sea-stories and ghost-sto- 
ries like a story-book sailor. Then we would have 
an unreasonably good supper and afterward climb 
the ladder to the lantern to see the lamps lighted, 
and sit there for a while watching the ships and 
the sunset. Almost all the coasters came in sight 
of Deephaven, and the sea outside the light was 
their grand highway. Twice from the lighthouse 
we saw a yacht squadron like a flock of great 
white birds. As for the sunsets, it used to seem 
often as if we were near the heart of them, for the 
sea all around us caught the color of the clouds, 
and though the glory was wonderful, I remember 
best one still evening when there was a bank of 
heavy gray clouds in the west shutting down like 
a curtain, and the sea was silver-colored. You 
could look under and beyond the curtain of clouds 
into the palest, clearest yellow sky. There was a 
little black boat in the distance drifting slowly, 
climbing one white wave after another, as if it 
were bound out into that other world beyond. 
But presently the sun came from behind the 
clouds, and the dazzling golden light changed the 
look of everything, and it was the time then to 


40 


DEEPIIA VEX. 


say one thought it a beautiful sunset ; while be- 
fore one could only keep very still, and watch the 
boat, and wonder if heaven would not be somehow 
like that far, faint color, which was neither sea 
nor sky. 

When we came down from the lighthouse and 
it grew late, we would beg for an hour or two 
longer on the water, and row away in the twilight 
far out from land, where, wdth our faces turned 
from the Light, it seemed as if we were alone, and 
the sea shoreless ; and as the darkness closed 
round us softly, we watched the stars come out, 
and were always glad to see Kate’s star and my 
star, which we had chosen when we were children. 
I used long ago to be sure of one thing, — that, 
however far away heaven might be, it could not 
be out of sight of the stars. Sometimes in the even- 
ing we waited out at sea for the moourise, and 
then we would take the oars again and go slowly 
in, once in a while singing or talking, but oftenest 
silent. 




MY LADY BRANDON AND THE WIDOW 
JIM. 

HEN it was known that we had arrived 
in Deephaven, the people who had known 
Miss Brandon so well, and Mrs. Lancaster 
also, seemed to consider themselves Kate’s friends 
by inheritance, and were exceedingly polite to us, 
in either calling upon us or sending pleasant mes- 
sages. Before the first week had ended we had 
no lack of society. They were not strangers to 
Kate, to begin with, and as fur me, I think it is 
easy for me to be contented, and to feel at home 
anywhere. I have the good fortune and the mis- 
fortune to belong to the navy, — that is, my father 
does, — and my life has been consequently an un- 
settled one, except daring the years of my school 
life, when my friendship with Kate began. 

I think I should be happy in any town if I 
were living there with Kate Lancaster. I will 
not praise my friend as I can praise her, or say 



42 


DEEPHA VEN. 


half the things I might say honestly. She is so 
fresh and good and true, and enjoys life so heartily. 
She is so childlike, without being childish ; and I 
do not tell you that she is faultless, but when she 
makes mistakes she is sorrier and more ready to 
hopefully try again than any girl I know. Per- 
haps you would like to know something about us, 
but I am not writing Kate’s biography and my own, 
only telling you of one summer which we spent 
together. Sometimes in Deephaven w’e were be- 
tween six and seven years old, but at other times 
we have felt irreparably grown-up, and as if we 
carried a crushing w'eight of care and duty. In 
reality w'e are both twenty-four, and it is a pleas- 
ant age, though I think next year is sure to be 
pleasanter, for we do not mind growing older, 
since we have lost nothing that we mourn about, 
and are gaining so much. I shall be glad if you 
learn to know Kate a little in my stories. It is 
not that I am fond of her and endow her with 
imagined virtues and graces ; no one can fail to 
see how unaffected she is, or not notice her 
thoughtfulness and generosity and her delightful 
fun, which never has a trace of coarseness or silli- 
ness. It was very pleasant having her for one’s 
companion, for she has an unusual power of win- 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


43 


ning people’s confidence, and of knowing with 
surest instinct how to meet them on their own 
ground. It is the girl’s being so genuinely sym- 
pathetic and interested which makes every one 
ready to talk to her and be friends with her ; just 
as the sunshine makes it easy for flowers to grow 
which the chilly winds hinder. She is not polite 
for the sake of seeming polite, but polite for the 
sake of being kind, and there is not a particle of 
what Hugh Miller justly calls the insolence of 
condescension about her; she is not brilliantly 
talented, yet she does everything in a charming 
fashion of her own ; she is not profoundly learned, 
yet she knows much of which many wise people 
are ignorant, and while she is a patient scholar in 
both little things and great, she is no less a teacher 
to all her friends, — dear Kate Lancaster ! 

We knew that we were considered Miss Bi’an- 
don’s representatives in Deephaven society, and 
this was no slight responsibility, as she had re- 
ceived much honor and respect. We heard again 
and again what a loss she had been to tlie town, 
and we tried that summer to do nothing to lessen 
the family reputation, and to give pleasure as well 
as take it, though we were singularly persistent in 
our pursuit of a good time. I grew much inter- 


44 


DEEPIIA VEN. 


ested in what I heard of Miss Brandon, and it 
seems to me that it is a great privilege to have an 
elderly person in one's neighborhood, in town or 
country, who is proud, and conservative, and who 
lives in stately fashion ; who is intolerant of sham 
and of useless novelties, and clings to the old ways 
of living and behaving as if it were part of her 
religion. There is something immensely respect- 
able about the gentlewomen of the old school. 
They ignore all bustle and flashiness, and the 
conceit of the younger people, who act as if at last 
it had been time for them to appear and manage 
this world as it ought to have been managed 
before. Their position in modern society is much 
like that of the King’s Chapel in its busy street 
in Boston. It perhaps might not have been easy 
to approach Miss Brandon, but I am sure that if 
I had visited in Deephaven during her lifetime I 
should have been very proud if I had been asked 
to take tea at her house, and should have liked to 
speak afterward of my acquaintance wit'h her. It 
w’ould have been impossible not to pay her great 
deference ; it is a pleasiu'e to think that she must 
have found this world a most polite world, and 
have had the highest opinion of its good manners. 
. Noblesse oblige : that is true in more ways than 
one ! 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


45 


I cannot help wondering if those of us who will 
be left by and by to represent our own generation 
will seem to have such superior elegance of behav- 
ior ; if we shall receive so much respect and be so 
much valued. It is hard to imagine it. We know 
that the world gains new refinements and a better 
culture ; but to us there never will be such im- 
posing ladies and gentlemen as these who belong 
to the old school. 

The morning after we reached Deephaven we 
were busy up stairs, and there w’as a determined 
blow at the knocker of the front door. I went 
down to see who was there, and had the pleasure 
of receiving our first caller. She was a prim little 
old woman who looked pleased and expectant, 
who wore a neat cap and front, and whose eyes 
were as bright as black beads. She wore no bon- 
net, and had thrown a little three-cornered shawl, 
with palm-leaf figures, over her shoulders ; and it 
was evident that she was a near neighbor. She 
w'as very short and straight and thin, and so quick 
that she darted like a pickerel when she moved 
about. It occurred to me at once that she was a 
very capable person, and had “ faculty,” and, dear 
me, how fast she talked ! She hesitated a moment 
when she saw me, and dropped a fragment of a 


46 


DEEPHA YEN. 


courtesy. “Miss Lan’k’ster ? ” said she, doubt- 
fully. 

“ No,” said I, “ I ’m Miss Denis : Miss Lancas- 
ter is at home, though : come in, won’t you 1 ” 

“ 0 Mrs. Patton ! ” said Kate, who came down 
just then. “ How very kind of you to come over 
so soon ! I should have gone to see you to-day. 
I was asking Mrs. Kew last night if you were here.” 

“ Land o’ compassion ! ” said Mrs. Patton, as she 
shook Kate’s hand delightedly. “ Where ’d ye 
s’pose I ’d be, dearl I ain’t like to move away 
from Deephaven now, after I ’ve held by the place 
so long, I ’ve got as many roots as the big ellum. 
Well, I should know you were a Brandon, no 
matter where I. see you. You ’ve got a real Bran- 
don look 3 tall and straight, ain’t you 1 It ’s four 
or five years since I saw you, except once at church, 
and once you went by, down to the shore, I sup- 
pose. It was a windy day in the spring of the year.” 

“ I remember it very well,” said Kate. “ Those 
were both visits of only a day or two, and I 
was here at Aunt Katharine’s funeral, and went 
away that same evening. Do you remember once 
I was here in the summer for a longer visit, five or 
six years ago, and I helped you pick currants in 
the garden ? You had a very old mug.” 


MY LADY BRA1VDO2I. 


47 


“Now, whoever would ha’ thought o’ your rec’- 
lecting thatl” said Mrs. Patton. “Yes. I had 
that mug because it was handy to carry about 
among the bushes, and then I ’d empt’ it into the 
basket as fast as I got it full. Your aunt always 
told me to pick all I wanted ; she could n’t use ’em, 
but they used to make sights o’ cmraut wine in 
old times. I s’pose that mug would be consider- 
able of a curiosity to anybody that was n’t used 
to seeing it round. My grand’ther Joseph Togger- 
son — my mother was a Toggerson — picked it up 
on the long sands in a wad of sea-weed ; strange it 
was n’t broke, but it ’s tough ; I 've dropped it on 
the floor, many ’s the time, and it ain’t even chipped. 
There ’s some Dutch reading on it and it ’s marked 
1732. Now I should n’t ha’ thought you ’d re- 
membered that old mug, I declare. Your aunt 
she had a monstrous sight of chiny. She ’s told 
me where ’most all of it come from, but I expect 
I ’ve forgot. My memory fails me a good deal by 
spells. If you had n’t come down I suppose your 
mother would have had the chiny packed up this 
spring, — what she did n’t take with her after your 
aunt died., S’pose she has n’t made up her mind 
what to do with the house ? ” 

“ No,” said Kate ; “she wishes she could : it is a 
great puzzle to us.” 


48 


DEEPHA VEN. 


“ I hope you will find it in middling order,” said 
Mrs. Patton, humbly. “ Me and Mis’ Dockum 
have done the best we knew, — opened the win- 
dows and let in the air and tried to keep it from 
getting damp. I fixed all the woollens with fresh 
camphire and tobacco the last o’ the winter ; you 
have to be dreadful careful in one o’ these old 
houses, ’less everything gets creaking with moths 
ill no time. Miss Katharine, how she did hate 
the sight of a moth-miller ! There ’s something 
I ’ll speak about before I forget it : the mice have 
eat the backs of a pile o’ old books that ’s stored 
away in the west chamber closet next to Miss 
Katharine’s room, and I set a trap there, but it 
was older ’n the ten commandments, that trap 
was, and the spring ’s rusty. I guess you ’d 
better get some new ones and set round in differ- 
ent places, ’less the mice ’ll pester you. There 
ain’t been no chance for ’em to get much of a 
living ’long through the winter, but they ’ll be 
sure to come back quick as they find there ’s 
likely to be good board. I see 3’our aunt’s cat 
setting out on the front steps. She never was no 
great of a mouser, but it went to my hqprt to see 
how pleased she looks ! Come right back, did n’t 
she ? How they do hold to their old haunts ! ” 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


49 


“ Was that Miss Brandon’s cat ?” I asked, with 
great interest. “ She has been up stairs with us, 
but I supposed she belonged to some neighbor, 
and had strayed in. She behaved as if she felt at 
home, poor old pussy ! ” 

“ We must keep her here,” said Kate. 

“ Mis’ Dockum took her after your mother went 
off, and Miss Katharine’s maids,” said Mrs. Patton ; 
“ but she told me that it was a long spell before 
she seemed to feel contented. She used to set on 
the steps and cry by the hour together, and try to 
get in, to first one door and then another. I used 
to think how bad Miss Katharine would feel ; she set 
a great deal by a cat, and she took notice of this 
as long as she did of anything. Her mind failed 
her, you know. Great loss to Deephaven, she was. 
Proud woman, and some folks were scared of her ; 
but I always got along with her, and I would n’t 
ask for no kinder friend nor neighbor. I ’ve had 
my troubles, and I ’ve seen the day I was suffer- 
ing poor, and I could n’t have brought myself to 
ask town help nohow, but I wish ye ’d ha’ beared 
her scold me when she found it out ; and she come 
marching into my kitchen one morning, like a 
grenadier, and says she, ‘ Why did n’t you send 
and tell me how sick and poor you are 1 ’ says she. 

3 i> 


50 


DEEPHA VEN. 


And she said she ’d ha’ been so glad to help me all 
along, but she thought I had means, — everybody 
did ; and I see the tears in her eyes, but she was 
scolding me and speaking as if she was dreadful 
mad. She made me comfortable, and she sent 
over one o’ her maids to see to me, and got the 
doctor, and a load o’ stufl’ come up from the store, 
so I did n’t have to buy anything for a good many 
weeks. I got better and so ’s to work, but she 
never ’d let me say nothing about it. I had a 
good deal o’ trouble, and I thought I ’d lost my 
health, but I had n’t, and that was thirty or forty 
years ago. There never was nothing going on at 
the gi-eat house that she did n’t have me over, 
sewing or cleaning or company ; and I got so that 
I knew how she liked to have things done. I felt 
as if it was my own sister, though I never had one, 
when I was going over to help lay her out. She 
used to talk as free to me as she would to Miss 
Lorimer or Miss Carew. I s’pose ye ain’t seen 
nothing o’ them yet 1 She was a good Christian 
woman. Miss Katharine was. “ The memory of 
the just is blessed ” ; that ’s what Mr. Lorimer said 
in his sermon the Sunday after she died, and there 
was n’t a blood-relation there to hear it. I de- 
clare it looked pitiful to see that pew empty that 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


51 


ought to ha’ been the mourners’ pew. Your mother, 
Mis’ Lancaster, had to go home Saturdaj^, your 
father was going away sudden to Washington, I ’ve 
understood, and she come back again the first of 
the week. There ! it did n’t make no sort o’ 
difference, p’r’aps nobody thought of it but me. 
There had n’t been anybody in the pew more than 
a couple o’ times since she used to sit there her- 
self, regular as Sunday come.” And Mi’s. Patton 
looked for a minute as if she were going to cry, 
but she changed her mind upon second thought. 

“ Your mother gave me most of Miss Katha- 
rine’s clothes ; this cap belonged to her, that I ’ve - 
got on now ; it ’s ’most wore out, but it does for 
mornings.” 

“ 0,” said Kate, I have two new ones for you 
in one of my trunks ! Mamma meant to choose 
them herself, but she had not time, and so she 
told me, and I think 1 found the kind she thought 
you would like.” 

“Now I ’m sure ! ” said Mrs. Patton, “if that 
ain’t kind ; you don’t tell me that Mis’ Lancaster 
thought of me just as she was going offl I shall 
set everything by them caps, and I ’m much 
obliged to you too. Miss Kate. I was just going 
to speak of that time you were here and saw the 


52 


DEEP HA VEN. 


mug ; you trimmed a cap for Miss Katharine to 
give me, real Boston style. I guess that box of 
cap-fixings is up on the top shelf of Miss Katha- 
rine’s closet now, to the left hand,” said Mrs. Pat- 
ton, with wistful certainty. “ She used to make her 
every-day caps herself, and she had some beautiful 
materials laid away that she never used. Some 
folks has laughed at me for being so particular 
’bout wearing caps except for best, but I don’t 
know ’s it ’s presuming beyond my station, and 
somehow I feel more respect for myself when I 
have a good cap on. I can’t get over your moth- 
er’s rec’lecting about me ; and she sent me a hand- 
some present o’ money this spring for looking after 
the house. I never should have asked for a cent ; 
it ’s a pleasure to me to keejf an eye on it, out 
o’ respect to your aunt. I was so pleased w'hen 
I heard you were coming long o’ your friend. I 
like to see the old place open ; it was about as bad 
as having no meeting. I miss seeing the lights, 
and your aunt w\as a gi'eat hand for lighting up 
bright ; the big hall lantern was lit every night, 
and she put it out when she went up stairs. She 
liked to go round same ’s if it was day. You see 
I forget all the time she was sick, and go back to 
the days when she was well and about the house. 


MY LADY BRAKDOX. 


53 


When her mind was failing her, and she was up 
stairs in her room, her eyesight seemed to be lost 
part of the time, and sometimes she ’d tell us to 
get the lamp and a couple o’ candles in the mid- 
dle o’ the day, and then she ’d be as satisfied ! 
But she used to take a notion to set in the 
dark, some nights, and think, I s’pose. I should 
have forty fits, if I undertook it. That was a good 
while ago ; and do you rec’lect how she used to 
play the piano % She used to be a great hand to 
play when she was young.” 

“ Indeed I remember it,” said Kate, who told 
me afterward how her aunt used to sit at the 
piano in the twilight and play to herself “ She 
was formerly a skilful musician,” said my friend, 
“ though one would not have imagined she cared 
for music. When I was a child she used to play 
in company of an evening, and once when I was 
here one of her old friends asked for a tune, and 
she laughingly said that her day was over and her 
fingers were stiff ; though I believe she might have 
played as well as ever then, if she had cared to 
try. But once in a while when she had been quiet 
all day and rather sad — I am ashamed that I used 
to think she was cross — she would open the piano 
and sit there until late, while I used to be en- 


54 


DEEPHA VEN. 


chanted by her memories of dancing-tunes, and 
old psalms, and marches and songs. There was 
one tune which I am sure had a history : there 
was a sweet wild cadence in it, and she would 
come back to it again and again, always going 
through with it in the same measured way. I 
have remembered so many things about my aunt 
since I have been here,” said Kate, “ which I 
hardly noticed and did not understand when they 
happened. I was afraid of her when I was a little 
gii’l, but I think if I had grown up sooner, I 
should have enjoyed her heartily. It never used 
to occur to me that she had a spark of tenderness 
or of sentiment, until just before she was ill, but I 
have been growing more fond of her ever since. 
I might have given her a great deal more pleas- 
ure. It was not long after I was through school 
that she became so feeble, and of course she liked 
best having mamma come to see her ; one of us 
had to be at home. I have thought lately how 
careful one ought to be, to be kind and thoughtful 
to one’s old friends. It is so soon too late to be 
good to them, and then one is always so sorry.” 

I must tell you more of Mrs. Patton ; of course 
it was not long before we returned her call, and 
we were much entertained ; we always liked to see 


MY LADY BRA X DON. 


55 


our friends in their own houses. Her house was 
a little way down the road, unpainted and gam- 
brel-roofed, but so low that the old lilac-bushes 
which clustered round it were as tall as the eaves. 
The Widow Jim (as nearly every one called her in 
distinction to the widow Jack Patton, who was a 
tailoress and lived at the other end of the town) 
w’as a very useful person. I suppose there must 
be her counterpart in all old New England vil- 
lages. She sewed, and she made elaborate rugs, 
and she had a decided talent for making carpets, 
— if there were one to be made, which must have 
happened seldom. But there were a great many 
to be turned and made over in Deephaven, and 
she went to the Carews’ and Lorimer-s’ at house- 
cleaning time or in seasons of great festivity. She 
had no eqtial in sickness, and knew how to brew 
every old-fashioned dose and to make every variety 
of herb-tea, and when her nursing was put to an 
end by her patient’s death, she was commander- 
in-chief at the funeral, and stood near the door- 
way to direct the mourning friends to their seats ; 
and I have no reason to doubt that she sometimes 
even had the immense responsibility of making out 
the order of the procession, since she had all gen- 
ealogy and relationship at her tongue’s end. It 


56 


DEEPHA YEN'. 


was an awful thing in Deephaven, we found, if the 
precedence was wrongly assigned, and once we 
chanced to hear some bitter remarks because the 
cousins of the departed wife had been placed 
after the husband’s relatives, — “ the blood-rela- 
tions ridin’ behind them that was only kin by 
man'iage ! I don’t wonder they felt hurt ! ” said 
the person who spoke ; a most unselfish and un- 
assuming soul, ordinarily. 

Mrs. Patton knew everybody’s secrets, but she 
told them judiciously if at all. She chattered all 
day to you as a spaiTow twitters, and you did not 
tire of her; and Kate and I were never more agree- 
ably entertained than when she told us of old times 
and of Kate’s ancestors and their contemporaries ; 
for her memory was wonderful, and she had either 
seen everything that had happened in Deephaven 
for a long time, or had received the particulars 
from reliable witnesses. She had known much 
trouble ; her husband had been but small satis- 
faction to her, and it was not to be wondered at if 
she looked upon all proposed marriages with com- 
passion. She was always early at church, and she 
wore the same bonnet that she had when Kate 
was a child ; it was such a well-preserved, proper 
black straw bonnet, with discreet bows of ribbon, 


MY LADY DEAN BOX. 


57 


and a useful lace veil to protect it from the 
weather. 

She showed us into the best room the first time 
we went to see her. It was the plainest little 
room, and very dull, and there was an exact suf- 
ficiency about its furnishing.s. Yet there was ’a 
certain dignity about it ; it was unmistakably a 
best room, and not a place where one might make 
a litter or carry one’s every-day work. You felt 
at once that somebody valued the prim old-fash- 
ioned chairs, and the two half-moon tables, and 
the thin carpet, which must have needed anxious 
stretcliing eveiy spring to make it come to the edge 
of the floor. There were some moui-ning-pieces 
by way of decoration, inscribed with the names 
of Mrs. Patton’s departed friends, — two worked in 
crewel to the memory of her father and mother, 
and two paper memorials, with the woman weeping 
under the willow at the side of a monument. They 
were all brown with age ; and there was a sampler 
beside, worked by “Judith Beckett, aged ten,” and 
all five were framed in slender black frames and 
hung very high on the walls. There was a rocking- 
chair which looked as if it felt too grand for use, 
and considered itself imposing. It tilted far back 
on its rockers, and was bent forward at the top to 


58 


DEEPHA VEN. 


make one’s head uncomfortable. It need not have 
troubled itself; nobody would ever wish to sit 
there. It was such a big rocking-chair, and Mrs. 
Patton was proud of it ; always generously urging 
her guests to enjoy its comfort, which was imagi- 
nary with her, as she was so short that she could 
hardly have climbed into it without assistance. 

Mrs. Patton was a little ceremonious at first, but 
soon recovered herself and told us a great deal 
which we were glad to hear. I asked her once if 
she had not always lived at Deephaven. “Here 
and beyond East Parish,” said she. “ Mr. Patton, 
— that was my husband, — he owned a good farm 
there when I married him, but I come back here 
again after he died ; place was all mortgaged. I 
never got a cent, and I was poorer than when I 
started. I worked harder ’n ever I did before or 
since to keep things together, but ’t was n’t any 
kind o’ use. Your mother knows all about it, Miss 
Kate,” — as if we might not be willing to believe it 
on her authority. “ I come back here a widow and 
destitute, and I tell you the world looked fair to 
me when I left this house first to go over there. 
Don’t you run no risks, you ’re better off as you 
be, dears. But land sakes alive, ‘ he ’ did n’t mean 
no hurt ! and he set eveiything by me when he 


MY LADY BRA X DON. 


59 


was himself. I don’t make no scruples of speaking 
about it, everybody knows how it was, but I did 
go through with everything. I never knew what 
the day would bring forth,” said the widow, as if 
this were the first time she had had a chance to 
tell her sorrows to a sympathizing audience. She 
did not seem to mind talking about the troubles 
of her married life any more than a soldier minds 
telling the story of his campaigns, and dwells wdth 
pride on the worst battle of all. 

Her favorite subject always was Miss Brandon, 
and after a pause she said that she hoped w'e were 
finding everything right in the house ; she had 
meant to take up the carpet in the best spare 
room, but it did n’t seem to need it ; it was taken 
up the year before, and the room had not been 
used since, there was not a mite of dust under it 
last time. And Kate assured her, with an appear- 
ance of great wisdom, that she did not think it 
could be necessary at all. 

“ I come home and had a good cry yesterday 
after I was over to see you,” said Mrs. Patton, 
and I could not help wondering if she really could 
cry, for she looked so perfectly dried up, so dry 
that she might rustle in the wind. “ Your aunt 
had been failin’ so long that just after she died it 


60 


DEEPHA VEX. 


was a relief, but I ’ve got so’s to forget all about 
that, and I miss her as she used to be ; it seemed 
as if you had stepped into her place, and you look 
some us she used to when she was young.” 

“ You must miss her,” said Kate, “and I know 
how much she used to depend upon you. You 
were very kind to her.” 

“ I sat up with her the night she died,” said the 
widow, with mournful satisfaction. “ I have lived 
neighbor to her all my life except the thirteen 
years I was married, and there was n’t a week I 
was n’t over to the great house except I was off to 
a distance taking care of the sick. When she got 
to be feeble she always wanted me to ’tend to the 
cleaning and to see to putting the canopies and 
curtains on the bedsteads, and she would n’t trust 
nobody but me to handle some of the best china. 
I used to say, ‘ Miss Katharine, why don’t you 
have some young folks come and stop with you 1 
There’s Mis’ Lancaster’s daughter a growing up ’ ; 
but she did n’t seem to care for nobody but your 
mother. You would n’t believe what a hand she 
used to be for company in her j’ounger days. 
Surprisin’ how folks alters. When I first rec’lect 
her much she was as straight as an arrow, and she 
used to go to Boston visiting and come home with 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


61 


the top of the fashion. She always did dress ele- 
gant. It used to be gay here, and she was always 
going down to the Lorimers’ or the Carews’ to tea, 
and they coming here. Her sister was married ; 
she was a good deal older ; but some of her 
brothers were at home. There was your grand- 
father and Mr. Henry. I don’t think she ever got 
it over, — his disappearing so. There were lots of 
folks then that ’s dead and gone, and they used to 
have their card-parties, and old Cap’n Manning — 
he ’s dead and gone — used to have ’em all to play 
whist every fortnight, sometimes thi'ee or four 
tables, and they always had cake and wine handed 
round, or the cap’n made some punch, like ’s not, 
wdth oranges in it, and lemons ; he knew how ! He 
was a bachelor to the end of his days, the old 
cap’n was, but he used to entertain real hand- 
some. I rec’lect one night they was a playin’ 
after the wine was brought in, and he upset his 
glass all over Miss Martha Lorimer’s iuvisible- 
gi’een watered silk, and spoilt the better part of 
two breadths. She sent right over for me early 
the next morning to see if I knew of anything to 
take out the spots, but I did n’t, though I can take 
grease out o’ most any material. We tried clear 
alcohol, and saleratus-water, and hartshorn, and 


62 


DEEPHA VEN. 


pouring water through, and heating of it, and 
when we got through it was worse than when we 
started. She felt dreadful bad about it, and at 
last she says, ‘Judith, we won’t work over it any 
more, but if you ’ll give me a day some time or 
’uother, we ’ll rip it up and make a quilt of it.’ I 
see that quilt last time I was in Miss Rebecca’s 
north chamber. Miss Martha was her aunt ; you 
never saw her; she was dead and gone before 
your day. It was a silk old Cap’n Peter Lorimer, 
her brother, who left ’em his money, brought home 
from sea, and she had worn it for best and second 
best eleven year. It looked as good as new, and 
she never would have ripped it iip if she could 
have matched it. I said it seemed to be a shame, 
but it was a curi’s figure. Cap’n Manning fetched 
her one to pay for it the next time he w'eut to 
Boston. She did n’t w’ant to take it, but he 
would n’t take no for an answer ; he was free- 
handed, the cap’n was. I helped ’em make it 
’long of Mary Ann Simms the dressmaker, — she ’s 
dead and gone too, — the time it was made. It was 
brown, and a beautiful-looking piece, but it wore 
shiny, and she made a double-gown of it before she 
died.” 

Mrs. Patton brought Kate and me some delicious 


MV LADY BRANDON. 


63 


old-fashioned cake with much spice in it, and told 
us it was made by old Mrs. Chantrey Brandon’s 
receipt which she got in England, that it would 
keep a year, and she always kept a loaf by her, 
now that she could atford it ; she supposed we 
knew Miss Katharine had named her in her will 
long before she was sick. “ It has put me beyond 
fear of want,” said Mrs. Patton. “ I won’t deny 
that I used to think it would go hard with me 
when I got so old I could n’t earn my living. You 
see I never laid up but a little, and it ’s hai'd for 
a woman who comes of respectable folks to be a 
pauper in her last days ; but your aunt. Miss 
Kate, she thought of it too, and I ’m sure I ’m 
thankful to be so comfortable, and to stay in my 
house, which I could n’t have done, like ’s not. 
Miss Rebecca Lorimer said to me after I got news 
of the will, ‘ Why, Mis’ Patton, you don’t suppose 
your friends would ever have let you w’ant ! ’ And 
I says, ‘ My friends are kind, — the Lord bless 
’em ! — but I feel better to be able to do for my- 
self than to be beholden.’ ” 

After this long call we went down to the post- 
office, and coming home stopped for a while in the 
old burying-ground, which we had noticed the day 
before ; and we sat for the first time on the great 


64 


DEEPHA VEX. 


stone in the wall, in the shade of a maple-tree, 
where we so often waited afterward for the stage 
to come with the mail, or rested on our way home 
from a walk. It was a comfortable perch; we 
used to read our letters there, I remember. 

I must tell you a little about the Deephaven 
burying-gTound, for its interest was inexhaustible, 
and I do not know how much time we may have 
spent in reading the long epitaphs on the grave- 
stones and trying to puzzle out the inscriptions, 
which were often so old and worn that we could 
only trace a letter here and there. It was a neg- 
lected corner of the world, and there were strag- 
gling sumachs and acacias scattered about the 
enclosure, while a row of fine old elms marked the 
boundary of two sides. The grass was long and 
tangled, and most of the stones leaned one way or 
the other, and some had fallen flat. There were a 
few handsome old family monuments clustered in 
one corner, among which the one that marked 
Miss Brandon’s grave looked so new and fresh 
that it seemed inappropriate. “ It should have 
been dingy to begin with, like the rest,” said Kate 
one day ; “ but I think it will make itself look like 
its neighbors as soon as possible.” 

There were many stones which were sacred to 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


66 


the memory of men who had been lost at sea, 
almost always giving the name of the departed 
ship, which was so kept in remembrance; and one 
felt as much interest in the ship Starlight, supposed 
to have foundered off’ the Cape of Good Hope, as 
in the poor fellow who had the ill luck to be one 
of her crew. There were dozens of such inscrip- 
tions, and there were other stones perpetuating 
the fame of Honourable gentlemen who had been 
members of His Majesty’s Council, or surveyor’s 
of His Majesty’s Woods, or King’s Officers of Cus- 
toms for the town of Deephaven. Some of the 
epitaphs were beautiful, showing that tenderness 
for the friends who had died, that longing to 
do them justice, to fully acknowledge their vir- 
tues and dearness, which is so touching, and so 
unmistakable even under the stiff, quaint ex- 
pressions and formal words which were thought 
suitable to be chiselled on the stones, so soon to 
be looked at carelessly by the tearless eyes of 
strangers. We often used to notice names, and 
learn their history from the old people whom we 
knew, and in this way we heard many stories 
which we never shall forget. It is wonderful, 
the romance and tragedy and adventure which 
one may find in a quiet old-fashioned country 

E 


66 


DEEPHA VEN. 


town, though to heartily enjoy the every-day 
life one m\ist care to study life and character, 
and must find pleasure in thought and observa- 
tion of simple things, and have an instinctive, 
delicious interest in what to other eyes is unfla- 
vored duluess. 

To go back to Mrs. Patton ; on our way home, 
after our first call upon her, we stopped to speak 
to Mrs. Dockum, who mentioned that she had 
seen us going in to the “ Widow Jim’s.” 

“Willin’ woman,” said Mrs. Dockum, “always 
been respected ; got an uncommon facility o’ 
speech. I never saw such a hand to talk, but 
then she has something to say, which ain’t the 
case with everybody. Good neighbor, does accord- 
ing to her means always. Dreadful tough time of 
it with her husband, shifless and drunk all his 
time. Noticed that dent in the side of her fore- 
head, I s’pose 1 That ’s where he liked to have 
killed her ; slung a stone bottle at her.” 

“ What f” said Kate and I, very much shocked. 

“ She don’t like to have it inquired about ; but 
she and I were sitting up with ’Mauda Damer one 
night, and she gave me the particulars. I knew 
he did it, for she had a fit o’ sickness afterward. 
Had sliced cucumbers for breakfast that morning ; 


MY LADY BRANDON. 


67 


he was very partial to them, and he wanted some 
vinegar. Happened to be two bottles in the cel- 
lar-way ; were just alike, and one of ’em was vin- 
egar and the other had sperrit in it at haying- 
time. He takes up the wrong one and pours on 
quick, and out come the hayseed and flies, and 
he give the bottle a sling, and it hit her there 
where you see the scar; might put the end of 
your finger into the dent. He said he meant to 
break the bottle ag’in the door, but it went slant- 
wise, sort of. I don’ know, I ’m sure ” (medita- 
tively). “ She said he was good-natured ; it was 
early in the mornin’, and he had n’t had time to 
get upset ; but he had a high temper naturally, 
and so much drink had n’t made it much better. 
She had good prospects when she married him. 
Six-foot-two and red cheeks and straight as a Nor- 
oway pine ; had a good property from his father, 
and his mother come of a good family, but he died 
in debt; drank like a fish. Yes, ’t was a shame, nice 
woman ; good consistent church-member ; always 
been respected ; useful among the sick.” 




DEEPHAVEN SOCIETY. 

was curious to notice, in this quaint 
ttle fishing-village by the sea, how 
early the gradations of society were 
defined. The place prided itself most upon having 
been loiig ago the residence of one Governor Chan- 
trey, who was a rich ship-owner and East India 
merchant, and whose fame and magnificence were 
almost fabulous. It was a never-ceasing regret 
that his house should have b\irned down after he 
died, and there is no doubt that if it wnre still 
standing it would rival any ruin of the Old World. 

The elderly people, though laying claim to no 
slight degree of present consequence, modestly 
ignored it, and spoke with pride of the grand way 
in which life was carried on by their ancestors, the 
Deephaven families of old times. I think Kate 
and I were assured at least a hundred times that 
Governor Chantrey kept a valet, and his wife. 
Lady Chantrey, kept a maid, and that the gov- 



DEEPHAVEN SOCIETY. 


69 


ernor had an uncle in England who was a baronet; 
and I believe this must have been why our friends 
felt so deep an interest in the affairs of the Eng- 
lish nobility : they no doubt felt themselves en- 
titled to seats near the throne itself. There w'ere 
formerly five families w'ho kept their coaches in 
Deephaven ; there were balls at the governor’s, 
and regal entertainments at other of the grand 
mansions ; there is not a really distinguished per- 
son in the country who will not prove to have 
been directly or indirectly connected with Deep- 
haven. We were shown the cellar of the Chantrey 
house, and the terraces, and a few clumps of lilacs, 
and the grand rows of elms. There are still two 
of the governor’s warehouses left, but his ruined 
wharves are fast disappearing, and are almost 
deserted, except by small barefooted boys who 
sit on the edges to fish for sea-perch when the 
tide comes in. There is an imposing monument 
in the burying-ground to the great man and his 
amiable consort. I am sure that if there were 
any surviving relatives of the governor they w'ould 
receive in Deephaven far more deference than is 
consistent with the principles of a republican 
government ; but the family became extinct long 
since, and I have heard, though it is not a subject 


70 


DEEPHA VEN. 


that one may speak of lightly, that the sous were 
unworthy their noble descent and came to inglo- 
rious ends. 

There were still remaining a few representatives 
of the old families, who were treated with much 
reverence by the rest of the townspeople, although 
they were, like the conies of Scripture, a feeble folk. 

Deephaven is utterly out of fashion. It never 
recovered from the effects of the embargo of 1807, 
and a sand-bar has been steadily filling in the 
mouth of the harbor. Though the fishing gives 
what occupation there is for the inhabitants of the 
place, it is by no means sufficient to draw recruits 
from abroad. But nobody in Deephaven cares for 
excitement, and if some one once in a while has 
the low taste to prefer a more active life, he is 
obliged to go elsewhere in search of it, and is 
spoken of afterward with kind pity. I well re- 
member the Widow Moses said to me, in speaking 
of a certain misguided nephew of hers, “ I never 
could see what could ’a’ sot him out to leave so 
many privileges and go way off to Lynn, with all 
them children too. Why, they lived here no more 
than a cable’s length from the meetin’-house ! ” 
There were two schooners owned in town, and 
’Bijah Mauley and Jo Sands owned a trawl. There 


DEEP HAVEN SOCIETY. 


71 


were some schooners and a small brig slowly going 
to pieces by the wharves, and indeed all Deephaven 
looked more or less out of repair. All along shore 
one might see dories and wherries and whale- 
boats, which had been left to die a lingering death. 
There is something piteous to me in the sight of 
an old boat. If one I had used much and cared 
for were past its usefulness, I should say good by 
to it, and have it towed out to sea and sunk ; it 
never should be left to fall to pieces above high- 
water mark. 

Even the commonest fishermen felt a satisfac- 
tion, and seemed to realize their privilege, in being 
residents of Deephaven ; but among the nobility 
and gentry there lingered a fierce pride in their 
family and town records, and a hardly concealed 
contempt and pity for people who were obliged 
to live in other parts of the world. There were 
acknowledged to be a few disadvantages, — such 
as living nearly a dozen miles from the railway, — 
but, as Miss Honora Carew said, the tone of Deep- 
haven society had always been very high, and it 
was very nice that there had never been any man- 
ufacturing element introduced. She could not feel 
too grateful, herself, that there was no disagreeable 
foreign population. 


72 


DEEPHA VEN. 


“ But,” said Kate one day, “ would n’t you like 
to have some pleasant new people brought into 
town 1 ” 

“ Certainly, my dear,” said Miss Honora, rather 
doubtfully ; “ I have always been public-spirited ; 
but then, we always have guests in summer, and 
I am growing old. I should not care to enlarge 
my acquaintance to any great extent.” Miss 
Honora and Mrs. Dent had lived gay lives in 
their younger days, and were interested and con- 
nected with the outside world more than any of 
our Deephaven friends ; but they were quite con- 
tented to stay in their own house, with their books 
and letters and knitting, and they carefully read 
Littell and “the new magazine,” as they called 
the Atlantic. 

The Carews were very intimate with the minis- 
ter and his sister, and there were one or two others 
who belonged to this set. There w'as Mr. Joshua 
Dorse)^ who wore his hair in a queue, was very 
deaf, and carried a ponderous cane which had 
belonged to his venerated father, — a much taller 
man than he. He was polite to Kate and me, but 
we never knew him much. He went to play whist 
with the Carews every Monday evening, and com- 
monly went out fishing once a week. He had 


DEEPUAVEN SOCIETY. 


73 


begun the practice of law, but he had lost his 
hearing, and at the same time his lady-love had 
inconsiderately fallen in love with somebody 
else ; after which he retired from active business 
life. He had a fine library, which he invited us 
to examine. He had many new books, but they 
looked shockingly overdressed, in their fresher 
bindings, beside the old brown volumes of essays 
and sermons, and lighter works in many-volume 
editions. 

A prominent link in society was Widow Tully, 
who had been the much-respected housekeeper of 
old Captain Manning for forty years. When he 
died he left her the use of his house and family 
pew, besides an annuity. The existence of Mr. 
Tully seemed to be a myth. During the first of 
his widow’s residence in town she had been much 
affected when obliged to speak of him, and always 
represented herself as having seen better days and 
as being highly connected. But she was apt to 
be ungrammatical when excited, and there was a 
whispered tradition that she used to keep a toll- 
bridge in a town in Connecticut j though the mys- 
tery of her previous state of existence will prob- 
ably never be solved. She w’ore mourning for the 
captain which would have befitted his widow, and 


74 


DEEPHA VEN. 


patronized the townspeople conspicuously, while 
she herself was treated with much condescension 
by the Carews and Lorimers. She occupied, on 
the whole, much the same position that Mrs. Betty 
Barker did in Cranford. And, indeed, Kate and I 
were often reminded of that estimable town. We 
heard that Kate’s aunt. Miss Brandon, had never 
been appreciative of Mrs. Tully’s merits, and that 
since her death the others had received Mrs. Tully 
into their society rather more. 

It seemed as if all the clocks in Deephaven, and 
all the people with them, had stopped years ago, 
and the people had been doing over and over what 
they had been busy about during the last week of 
their unambitious progress. Their clothes had 
lasted wonderfully well, and they had no need to 
earn money when there was so little chance to 
spend it ; indeed, thei'e were several families who 
seemed to have no more visible means of support 
than a balloon. There were no young people 
whom we knew', though a number used to come 
to church on Sunday from the inland farms, or 
“ the country,” as we leai’ued to say. There were 
children among the fishermen’s families at the 
shore, but a few years will see Deephaven possessed 
by two classes instead of the time-honored three. 


DEEPHAVEN SOCIETY. 


75 


As for our first Sunday at church, it must be 
in vain to ask you to imagine our delight when we 
heard the tuning of a bass-viol in the gallery just 
before service. We pressed each other’s hands 
most tenderly, looked up at the singers’ seats, and 
then trusted ourselves to look at each other. It 
was more than we had hoped for. There were 
also a violin and sometimes a flute, and a choir of 
men and women singers, though the congregation 
were expected to join in the psalm-singing. The 
first hymn was 

“ The Lord our God is full of might, 

The winds obey his will,” 

to the tune of St. Ann’s. It was all so delight- 
fully old-fashioned ; our pew was a square pew, 
and was by an open window looking seaward. We 
also had a view of the entire congregation, and 
as we were somewhat early, we watched the people 
come in, with great interest. The Deephaven 
aristocracy came wdth stately step up the aisle ; 
this w'as all the chance there was for displaying 
their unquestioned dignity in public. 

Many of the people drove to church in wagons 
that were low and old and creaky, with worn buf- 
falo-robes over the seat, and some hay tucked 


76 


DEEPHA YEN. 


underneath for the sleepy, undecided old horse. 
Some of the younger farmers and their wives had 
high, shiny wagons, with tall horsewhips, — which 
they sometimes brought into chui'ch, — and they 
drove up to the steps with a consciousness of being 
conspicuous and enviable. They had a bashful 
look when they came in, and for a few minutes 
after they took their seats they evidently felt that 
all eyes were fixed upon them ; but after a little 
while they were quite at their ease, and looked 
critically at the new arrivals. 

The old folks interested us most. “ Do you 
notice how many more old women there are than old 
men 1 ” whispered Kate to me. And we wondered 
if the husbands and brothers had been drowned, 
and if it must not be sad to look at the blue, 
sunshiny sea beyond the marshes, if the far-away 
white sails reminded them of some ships that had 
never sailed home into Deephaven harbor, or of 
fishing-boats that had never come back to land. 

The girls and young men adorned themselves 
in what they believed to be the latest fashion, but 
the elderly women were usually relics of old times 
in manner and dress. They wore to church thin, 
soft silk gowns that must have been brought from 
over the seas years upon years before, and wide 


DEEPHAVEN SOCIETY. 


77 


collars fastened with mourning-pins holding a lock 
of hair. They had big black bonnets, some of 
them with stiff capes, such as Kate and I had not 
seen before since our childhood. They treasured 
large rusty lace veils of scraggly pattern, and 
wore sometimes, on pleasant Sundays, white China- 
crape shawls with attenuated fringes ; and there 
were two or three of these shawls in the congre- 
gation which had been dyed black, and gave an 
aspect of meekness and general unworthiness to 
the aged wearer, they clung and drooped about 
the figure in such a hopeless way. We used to 
notice often the most interesting scarfs, without 
which no Deephaven woman considered herself in 
full dress. Sometimes there were red India scarfs 
in spite of its being hot weather ; but our favorite 
ones were long strips of silk, embroidered along 
the edges and at the ends with dismal-colored floss 
in odd patterns. I think there must have been 
a fashion once, in Deephaven, of working these 
scarfs, and I should not be surprised to find that 
it was many years before the fashion of working 
samplers came about. Our friends always wore 
black mitts on warm Sundays, and many of them 
carried neat little bags of various designs on their 
arms, containing a precisely folded pocket-hand- 


78 


DEEPHA YEN. 


kerchief, and a frugal lunch of caraway seeds or 
red and white peppermints. I should like you to 
see, with your own eyes, Widow Ware and Miss 
Exper’ence Hull, two old sisters whose personal 
appearance we delighted in, and whom we saw 
feebly approaching down the street this first 
Sunday morning under the shadow of the two 
last members of an otherwise extinct race of 
parasols. 

There were two or three old men w^ho sat near 
us. They were sailors, — there is something un- 
mistakable about a sailor, — and they had a curi- 
ously ancient, uncanny look, as if they might have 
belonged to the crew of the Mayflower, or even 
have cruised about with the Northmen in the 
times of Harold Harfager and his comrades. They 
had been blown about by so many winter winds, 
so browned by summer suns, and wet by salt 
spray, that their hands and faces looked like leather, 
with a few deep folds instead of wrinkles. They 
had pale blue eyes, very keen and quick ; their 
hair looked like the fine sea-weed which clings to 
the kelp-roots and mussel-shells in little locks. 
These friends of ours sat solemnly at the heads of 
their pews and looked unflinchingly at the minister, 
when they were not dozing, and they sang with 


DEEPHA VEN SOCIETY. 


79 


voices like the howl of the wind, with an occasional 
deep note or tw’o. 

Have you never seen faces that seemed old- 
fashioned? Many of the people in Deephaven 
church looked as if they must be — if not super- 
naturally old — exact copies of their remote an- 
cestors. I wonder if it is not possible that the 
features and expression may be almost perfectly 
reproduced. These faces were not modern Amer- 
ican faces, but belonged rather to the days of the 
early settlement of the country, the old colonial 
times. We often heard quaint words and expres- 
sions which we never had knowm anywhere else but 
in old books. There was a great deal of sea-lingo 
in use ; indeed, we learned a great deal ourselves, 
unconsciously, and used it afterward to the great 
amusement of our friends ; but there were also 
many peculiar provincialisms, and among the peo- 
ple who lived on the lonely farms inland we often 
noticed words we had seen in Chaucer, and studied 
out at school in our English literature class. Every- 
thing in Deephaven was more or less influenced by 
the sea ; the minister spoke oftenest of Peter and 
his fishermen companions, and prayed most ear- 
nestly every Sunday morning for those who go down 
to the sea in ships. He made frequent allusions 


80 


DEEPHA VEN. 


and drew numberless illustrations of a similar 
kind for his sermons, and indeed I am in doubt 
whether, if the Bible had been written wholly in 
inland countries, it would have been much valued 
in Deephaven. 

The singing was very droll, for there was a 
majority of old voices, which had seen their best 
days long before, and the bass-viol was excessively 
noticeable, and apt to be a little ahead of the time 
the singers kept, while the violin lingered after. 
Somewhere on the other side of the church we 
heard an acute voice which rose high above all the 
rest of the congregation, sharp as a needle, and 
slightly cracked, with a limitless supply of breath. 
It rose and fell gallantly, and clung long to the 
high notes of Dundee. It was like the wail of the 
banshee, which sounds clear to the fated hearer 
above all other noises. We afterward became ac- 
quainted with the owner of this voice, and were 
surprised to find her a meek widow, who- was like 
a thin black beetle in her pathetic cypress veil 
and big black bonnet. She looked as if she had 
forgotten who she was, and spoke with an apolo- 
getic whine ; but we heard she had a temper as 
high as her voice, and as much to be dreaded as 
the equinoctial gale. 


DEEPHA VEN SOCIETY. 


81 


Near the church was the parsonage, where Mx\ 
Lorimer lived, and the old Lorimer house not far 
beyond was occupied by Miss Rebecca Lorimer. 
Some stranger might ask the question why the 
minister and his sister did not live together, but 
you would have understood it at once after you 
had lived for a little while in town. They were 
very fond of each other, and the minister dined with 
Miss Rebecca on Sundays, and she passed the day 
with him on Wednesdays, and they ruled their 
separate households with decision and dignity. I 
think Mr. Lorimer’s house showed no signs of 
being without a mistress, any more than his sister’s 
betrayed the want of a master’s care and authority. 

The Carews were very kind friends of ours, and 
had been Miss Brandon’s best friends. We heard 
that there had always been a coolness between 
Miss Brandon and Miss Lorimer, and that, though 
they exchanged visits and were always polite, there 
was a chill in the politeness, and one would never 
have suspected them of admiring each other at all. 
We had the whole history of the trouble, which 
dated back scores of years, from Miss Honora 
Carew, but we always took pains to appear igno- 
rant of the feud, and I think Miss Lorimer was 
satisfied that it was best not to refer to it, and to let 
4 « 


F 


82 


DEEP HA VEX. 


bygones be bygones. It would not have been true 
Deephaven courtesy to prejudice Kate against her 
grand-aunt, and Miss Rebecca cherished her dis- 
like in silence, which gave us a most grand respect 
for her, since we knew she thought herself in the 
right ; though I think it never had come to an open 
quarrel between these majestic aristocrats. 

Miss Honora Carew and Mr. Dick and their 
elder sister, Mrs. Dent, had a charmingly sedate 
and quiet home in the old Carew house. Mrs. 
Dent was ill a great deal while we were there, but 
she must have been a very bi-illiant woman, and 
was not at all dull when we knew her. She had 
outlived her husband and her children, and she 
had, several years before our summer there, given 
up her own home, which was in the city, and had 
come back to Deephaven. Miss Honora — dear Miss 
Honora ! — had been one of the brightest, happiest 
girls, and had lost none of her brightness and 
happiness by growing old. She had lost none of 
her fondness for society, though she was so con- 
tented in quiet Deephaven, aud I think she enjoyed 
Kate’s and my stories of our pleasures as much as 
we did hers of old times. We used to go to see 
her almost every day. “ Mr. Dick,” as they called 
their brother, had once been a merchant in the 


DEEPHA VEN SOCIETY. 


83 


East Indies, and there were quantities of curiosi- 
ties and most beautiful china which he had brought 
and sent home, which gave the house a character 
of its own. He had been very rich and had lost 
some of his money, and then he came home and 
was still considered to possess princely wealth by 
his neighbors. He had a great fondness for read- 
ing and study, which had not been lost sight of 
during his business life, and he spent most of his 
time in his library. He and Mr. Lorimer had 
their differences of opinion about certain points of 
theology, and this made them much fonder of each 
other’s society, and gave them a great deal of 
pleasure ; for after every series of arguments, each 
was sure that he had vanquished the other, or 
there were alternate victories and defeats which 
made life vastly interesting and important. 

Miss Carew and Mrs. Dent had a great treasury 
of old brocades and laces and ornaments, which 
they showed us one day, and told us stories of the 
wearers, or, if they were their own, there were always 
some reminiscences which they liked to talk over 
with each other and with us. I never shall forget 
the first evening we took tea with them ; it im- 
pressed us very much, and yet nothing wonderful 
happened. Tea was handed round by an old- 


84 


DEEP HA VEiV. 


fashioned maid, and afterward we sat talking in 
the twilight, looking out at the garden. It was 
such a delight to have tea served in this way. I 
wonder that the fashion has been almost forgotten. 
Kate and I took much pleasure in choosing our 
tea-poys ; hers had a mandarin parading on the 
top, and mine a flight of birds and a pagoda ; and 
we often used them afterward, for Miss Honora 
asked us to come to tea whenever w’e liked. “ A 
stupid, common country town ” some one dared to 
call Deephaven in a letter once, and how bitterly 
we resented it ! That was a house where one 
might find the best society, and the most charm- 
ing manners and good-breeding, and if I were 
asked to tell you what I mean by the word “ lady,” 
I should ask you to go, if it were possible, to call 
upon Miss Honora Carew. 

After a while the elder sister said, “ My dears, 
we always have prayers at nine, for I have to go 
up stairs early nowadays.” And then the servants 
came iu, and she read solemnly the King of glory 
Psalm, which I have always liked best, and then 
Mr. Dick read the church prayers, the form of 
prayer to be used in families. We stayed later to 
talk with Miss Honora after we had said good night 
to Mrs. Dent. And we told each other, as we went 


DEEP HAVEN SOCIETY. 


85 


borne in the moonlight down the quiet street, how 
much we had enjoyed the evening, for somehow 
the house and the people had nothing to do with 
the present, or the hurry of modern life. I have 
never heard that psalm since without its bringing 
back that summer night in Deephaven, the beauti- 
ful quaint old room, and Kate and I feeling so 
young and worldly, by contrast, the flickering, 
shaded light of the candles, the old book, and the 
voices that said Amen. 

There were several other fine old houses in 
Deephaven beside this and the Brandon house, 
though that was rather the most imposing. There 
were two or three which had not been kept in re- 
pair, and were deserted, and of course they were 
said to be haunted, and we were told of their 
ghosts, and why they walked, and when. From 
some of the local superstitions Kate and I have 
vainly endeavored ever since to shake ourselves 
free. There was a most heathenish fear of doing 
certain things on Friday, and there were countless 
signs in which we still have confidence. When the 
moon is very bright and other people grow senti- 
mental, we only remember that it is a fine night 
to catch hake. 



THE CAPTAINS. 

SHOULD consider my account of Deep- 
haven society incomplete if I did not tell 
you something of the ancient mariners, 
who may be found every pleasant moi'ning sunning 
themselves like turtles on one of the wharves. 
Sometimes there was a considerable group of them, 
but the less constant members of the club were 
older than the rest, and the epidemics of rheuma- 
tism in town w^ere sadly frequent. We found that 
it was etiquette to call them each captain, but I 
think some of the Deephaven men took the title 
by brevet upon arriving at a proper age. 

They sat close together because so many of 
them were deaf, and when we were lucky enough 
to overhear the conversation, it seemed to concern 
their adventures at sea, or the freight carried out 
by the Sea Duck, the Ocean Rover, or some other 
Deephaven ship, — the particulars of the voyage 
and its disasters and successes being as familiar as 



THE CAPTAINS. 


87 


the wanderings of the children of Israel to an old 
parson. There were sometimes violent altercations 
when the captains diffei'ed as to the tonnage of some 
craft that had been a prey to the winds and waves, 
dry-rot, or barnacles fifty years before. The old 
fellows puffed away at little black pipes with short 
stems, and otherwise consumed tobacco in fabulous 
quantities. It is needless to say that they gave 
an immense deal of attention to the weather. We 
used to wish we could join this agreeable company, 
but we found that the appearance of an outsider 
caused a disapproving silence, and that the meet- 
ing was evidently not to be interfered with. Once 
w'e were impertinent enough to hide ourselves for 
a while just round the comer of the warehouse, but 
we were afraid or ashamed to try it again, though 
the conversation was inconceivably edifying. Cap- 
tain Isaac Horn, the eldest and wisest of all, was 
discoursing upon some cloth he had purchased 
once in Bristol, which the shop-keeper delayed 
sending until just as they wei'e ready to weigh 
anchor. 

“ I happened to take a look at that cloth,” said 
the captain, in a loud droning voice, “ and as quick 
as I got sight of it, I spoke onpleasaut of that 
swindling English fellow, and the crew, they stood 


88 


DEEPHA VEN. 


back. I was dreadful high-tempered in them days, 
mind ye ; and I had the gig manned. We was 
out in the sti*eara, just ready to sail. ’T was no 
use waiting any longer for the wind to change, and 
we was going north-about. I went ashore, and 
when I walks into his shop ye never see a creator’ 
so wilted. Ye see the miser’ble sculpin thought 
I ’d never stop to open the goods, an’ it was a 
chance I did, mind ye ! ‘ Lor,’ says he, grinning 

and turning the color of a biled lobster, ‘ I s’posed 
ye were a standing out to sea by this time.’ ‘ No,’ 
says I, ‘ and I ’ve got my men out here on the quay 
a landing that cloth o’ yourn, and if you don’t send 
just what I bought and paid for down there to go 
back in the gig within fifteen minutes, I ’ll take ye 
by the collar and drop ye into the dock.’ I was 
twice the size of him, mind ye, and master strong. 
‘ Don’t ye like it 1 ’ says he, edging round ; ‘ I ’ll 
change it for ye, then.’ Ter’ble perlite he was. 
‘ Like it 1 ’ says I, ‘ it looks as if it were built of 
dog’s hair and divil’s wool, kicked together by 
spiders ; and it ’s coarser than Irish frieze ; three 
threads to an armful,' says I.” 

This was evidently one of the captain’s favorite 
stories, for we heard an approving grumble from 
the audience. 


THE CAPTAINS. 


89 


In the course of a walk inland we made a new 
acquaintance, Captain Lant, whom we had noticed 
at church, and who sometimes joined the company 
on the wharf. We had been walking through the 
woods, and coming out to his fields we went on to 
the house for some water. There was no one at 
home but the captain, who told us cheerfully 
that he should be pleased to serve us, though his 
women-folks had gone off to a funeral, the other 
side of the P’int. He brought out a pitcherful 
of milk, and after we had drunk some, we all sat 
down together in the shade. The captain brought 
an old flag-bottomed chair from the woodhouse, 
and sat down facing Kate and me, with an air of 
certainty that he was going to hear something new 
and make some desirable new acquaintances, and 
also that he could tell something it would be worth 
our while to hear. He looked more and more like 
a well-to-do old English sparrow, and chippered 
faster and faster. 

“Queer ye should know I ’m a sailor so quick; 
why, I ’ve been a-farming it this twenty years ; have 
to go down to the shore and take a day’s fishing 
every hand’s turn, though, to keep the old hulk 
clear of barnacles. There ! I do wish I lived 
Higher the shore, where I could see the folks I 


90 


BEEP HA YEN. 


know, and talk about what ’s been a-goin’ on. You 
don’t know anything about it, you don’t ; but it ’s 
tryin’ to a naan to be called ‘ old Cap’n Lant,’ and, 
so to speak, be forgot when there ’s anything stir- 
ring, and be called gran’ther by clumsy creatur’s 
goiu’ on fifty and sixty, who can’t do no more w^ork 
to-day than I can ; an’ then the women-folks keeps 
a-tellin’ me to be keerful and not fall, and as how 
1 ’m too old to go out fishing ; and when they want 
to be soft-spoken, they say as how they don’t see 
as I fail, and how wonderful I keep my bearin’. 
I never did want to farm it, but ‘ she ’ always took 
it to heart when I was off on a v’y’ge, and this 
farm and some consider’ble means beside come to 
her from her brother, and they all sot to and give 
me no peace of mind till I sold out my share of 
the Ann Eliza and come ashore for good. I did 
keep an eighth of the Pactolus, and I was ship’s 
husband for a long spell, but she never w'as heard 
from on her last voyage to Singapore. I was the 
lonesomest man, when I first come ashore, that 
ever you see. Well, you are master hands to walk, 
if you come way up from the Brandon house. I 
wish the women was at home. Know Miss Bran- 
don 1 Why, yes ; and 1 remember all her brothers 
and sisters, and her father and mother. I can see 


THE CAPTAINS. 


91 


’em now coming into meeting, proud as Lucifer 
and straight as a mast, every one of ’em. Miss 
Katharine, she always had her butter from this 
very farm. Some of the folks used to go down 
every Saturday, and my wife, she ’s been in the 
house a hundred times, I s’pose. So you are 
Hathaway Brandon’s grand-daughter ? ” (to Kate ) ; 
“ why, he and I have been out fishing together 
many’s the time, — he and Chantrey, his next 
younger brother. Henry, he was a disapp’intment ; 
he went to furrin parts and turned out a Catholic 
priest, I s’pose you 've heard 1 I never was so set 
ag’in Mr. Henry as some folks was. He was the 
pleasantest spoken of the whole on ’em. You 
do look like the Brandons ; you really favor ’em 
consider’ble. Well, I’m pleased to see ye, I’m 
sure.” 

We asked him many questions about the old 
people, and found he knew' all the family histories 
and told them with great satisfaction. We found he 
had his pet stories, and it must have been gratify- 
ing to have an entirely new and fresh audience. 
He was adroit in leading the conversation around 
to a point where the stories would come in appro- 
priately, and we helped him as much as possible. 
In a small neighborhood all the people know each 


92 


DEEP HA VEN. 


other’s stories and experiences by heart, and I 
have no doubt the old captain had been snubbed 
many times on beginning a favorite anecdote. 
There was a story which he told us that first day, 
which he assured us was strictly true, and it is 
certainly a remarkable instance of the influence of 
one mind upon another at a distance. It seems to 
me worth preserving, at any rate ; and as we heard 
it from the old man, with his solemn voice and 
serious expression and quaint gestures, it was 
singularly impressive. 

“ When I was a youngster,” said Captain Lant, 
“ I was an orphan, and I was bound out to old Mr. 
Peletiah Daw’s folks, over on the Ridge Road. It 
was in the time of the last war, and he had a 
nephew, Ben Dighton, a dreadful high-strung, wild 
fellow, who had gone off on a privateer. The old 
man, he set everything by Ben ; he would dis- 
oblige his own boys any day to please him. This 
was in his latter days, and he used to have spells 
of wandering and being out of his head ; and he 
used to call for Ben and talk sort of foolish about 
him, till they would tell him to stop. Ben never 
did a stroke of work for him, either, but he was a 
handsome fellow, and had a way with him when he 
was good-natured. One night old Peletiah had 


TEE CAPTAINS. 


93 


been veiy bad all day and was getting quieted 
down, and it was after supper \ we sat round in 
the kitchen, and he lay in the bedroom opening 
oat. There were some pitch-knots blazing, and the 
light shone in on the bed, and all of a sudden 
something made me look up and look in ; and 
there was the old man setting up straight, with 
his eyes shining at me like a cat’s. ‘Stop ’em!’ 
says he ; ‘ stop 'em ! ’ and his two sons run in then 
to catch hold of him, for they thought he was 
beginning with one of his wild spells ; but he fell 
back on the bed and began to cry like a baby. 
‘0, dear me,’ says he, ‘they’ve hung him, — hung 
him right up to the yard-arm ! 0, they oughtn’t 

to have done it ; cut him down quick I he did n’t 
think; he means well, Ben does; he was hasty. 
0 my God, I can’t bear to see him swing round 
by the neck ! It ’s poor Ben hung up to the yard- 
ai'm. Let me alone, I say I ’ Andrew and Moses, 
they were holding him with all their might, and 
they were both hearty men, but he ’most got away 
from them once or twice, and he screeched and 
hoAvled like a mad creator’, and then he would cry 
again like a child. He was worn out after a while 
and lay back quiet, and said over and over, ‘ Poor 
Ben ! ’ and ‘ bung at the yard-arm ’ ; and he told 


94 


DEEPHA VEN. 


the neighbors next day, but nobody noticed him 
much, and he seemed to forget it as his mind come 
back. All that summer he was miser’ble, and 
towards cold weather he failed right along, though 
he had been a master strong man in his day, and 
his timbers held together well. Along late in the 
fall he had taken to his bed, and one day there 
came to the house a fellow named Sim Decker, a 
reckless fellow he was too, who had gone out in 
the same ship with Ben. He pulled a long face 
when he came in, and said he had brought bad 
news. They had been taken prisoner and carried 
into port and put in jail, and Ben Dighton had got 
a fever there and died. 

“ ‘ You lie ! ’ says the old man from the bed- 
room, speaking as loud and f’erce as ever you 
heard. ‘ They hung him to the yard-arm ! ’ 

“ ‘ Don’t mind him,’ says Andrew ; ‘ he ’s wan- 
dering-like, and he had a bad dream along back in 
the spring ; I s’posed he ’d forgotten it.’ But the 
Decker fellow he turned pale, and kept talking 
crooked while he listened to old Peletiah a-scold- 
ing to himself. He answered the questions the 
women-folks asked him, — they took on a good 
deal, — but pretty soon he got up and winked to 
me and Andrew, and we went out in the yard. 


THE CAPTAINS. 


95 


He began to swear, and then says he, ‘ When did 
the old man have his dream 1 ’ Andrew could n’t 
remember, but I knew it was the night before 
he sold the gray colt, and that was the 24th of 
April. 

“ ‘ Well,’ says Sim Decker, ‘ on the twenty-third 
day of April Ben Dighton was hung to the yard- 
arm, and I see ’em do it. Lord help him ! I did n’t 
mean to tell the women, and I s’posed you ’d never 
know, for I ’m all the one of the ship’s company 
you ’re ever likely to see. We were taken prisoner, 
and Ben was mad as fire, and they were scared of 
him and chained him to the deck ; and while he 
was sulking there, a little parrot of a midshipman 
come up and grinned at him, and snapped his 
fingers in his face ; and Ben lifted his hands with 
the heavy irons and sprung at him like a tiger, 
and the boy dropped dead as a stone ; and they 
put the bight of a rope round Ben’s neck and slung 
him right up to the yard-arm, and there he swung 
back and forth until as soon as we dared one of us 
dim’ up and cut the rope and let him go over the 
ship’s side ; and they put us in irons for that, curse 
’em ! How did that old man in there know, and he 
bedridden here, nigh upon three thousand miles 
off! ’ says he. But I guess there was n’t any of us 


96 


DEEP HA VEN, 


could tell him,” said Captain Lant in conclusion. 
“ It ’s something I never could account for, but 
it ’s true as truth. I ’ve known more such cases ; 
some folks laughs at me for believing ’em, — ‘ the 
cap’n’s yarns,’ they calls ’em, — but if you’ll 
notice, everybody ’s got some yarn of that kind 
they do believe, if they won’t believe 3'ours. And 
there ’s a good deal happens in the world that ’s 
myster’ous. Now there was Widder Oliver Pink- 
ham, over to the P’int, told me with her own lips 
that she — ” But just here we saw the captain’s 
expression alter suddenly, and looked around to 
see a wagon coming up the lane. We immediately 
said we must go home, for it was growing late, 
but asked permission to come again and hear the 
AVidow Oliver Pinkham story. We stopped, how- 
ever, to see “the women-folks,” and afterward 
became so intimate with them that we were in- 
vited to spend the afternoon and take tea, which 
invitation we accepted with great pride. We went 
out fishing, also, with the captain and “ Danny,” 
of whom I will tell you presently. I often think 
of Captain Lant in the winter, for he told Kate 
once that he “felt master old in winter to what he 
did in summer.” He likes reading, fortunately', 
and we had a letter from him, not long ago, ac- 


THE CAPTAINS. 


97 


kiiowledging tho receipt of soine books of travel 
by land and water which we had luckily thought 
to send him. He gave the latitude and longitude 
of Deephaven at the beginning of his letter, and 
signed himself, “ Kcspectfully yours with esteem, 
Jacob Lant (condemned as unseaworthy).” 



6 


6 



DANNY. 

^N seemed more like one of the 
e English seaside towns than 
r. It was not in the least 
American. There was no excitement about any- 
thing; there were no manufactories; nobody seemed 
in the least hurry. The only foreigners were a 
few stranded sailors. I do not know when a house 
or a new building of any kind had been built ; the 
men were farmers, or went outward in boats, or 
inward in fish-wagons, or sometimes mackerel and 
halibut fishing in schooners for the city markets. 
Sometimes a schooner came to one of the wharves 
to load with hay or firewood ; but Deephaven 
used to be a town of note, rich and busy, as its 
forsaken warehouses show. 

We knew almost all the fisher-people at the 
shore, even old Dinuett, who lived an apparently 
desolate life by himself in a hut and was reputed 
to have been a bloodthirsty pirate in his youth. 



DANNY. 


99 


He was consequently feared by all the children, 
and for misdemeanors in his latter days avoided 
generally. Kate talked with him awhile one day 
on the shore, and made him come up with her for 
a bandage for his hand which she saw he had hurt 
badly ; and the next morning he brought us a 
“ new ” lobster apiece, — fishermen mean that a 
thing is only not salted when they say it is “fresh.” 
We happened to be in the hall, and received him 
ourselves, and gave him a great piece of tobacco 
and (unintentionally) the means of drinking our 
health. “ Bless your pretty hearts ! ” said he ; 
“may ye be happy, and live long, and get good 
husbands, and if they ain’t good to you may they 
die from you ! ” 

None of our friends were more interesting than 
the fishermen. The fish-houses, which might be 
called the business centre of the town, were at a 
little distance from the old warehouses, farther 
down the harbor shore, and were ready to fall 
down in despair. There were some fishermen who 
lived near by, but most of them were also farmers 
in a small way, and lived in the village or farther 
inland. From our eastern windows we could see 
the moorings, and we always liked to watch the 
boats go out or come straying in, one after the. 


100 


DEEP HA VEN. 


other, tipping and skimming under the square 
little sails ; and we often went down to the fish- 
houses to see what kind of a catch there had 
been. 

I should have imagined that the sea would 
become very commonplace to men whose business 
was carried on in boats, and who had spent night 
after night and day after day from their boyhood 
on the water ; but that is a mistake. They have 
an awe of the sea and of its mysteries, and of what 
it hides away from us. They are childish in their 
wonder at any strange creature which they find. 
If they have not seen the sea-serpent, they believe, 
I am sure, that other people have, and when a great 
shark or black-fish or sword-fish was taken and 
brought in shore, everybody went to see it, and 
we talked about it, and how brave its conqueror 
was, and what a fight there had been, for a long 
time afterward. 

I said that we liked to see the boats go out, but 
I must not give you the impression that we saw 
them often, for they weighed anchor at an early 
hour in the morning. I remember once there was 
a light fog over the sea, lifting fast, as the sun 
was coming up, and the brownish sails disappeared 
in the mist, while voices could still be heard 


DANNY. 


101 


for some minutes after the men were hidden from 
sight. This gave one a curious feeling, but after- 
ward, when the sun had risen, everything looked 
much the same as usual ; the fog had gone, and 
the dories and even the larger boats were distant 
specks on the sparkling sea. 

One afternoon we made a new acquaintance in 
this wise. Wo went down to the shore to see if 
we could hire a conveyance to the lighthouse the 
next morning. We often went out early in one of 
the fishing-boats, and after we had stayed as long as 
we pleased, Mr. Kew would bring us home. It was 
quiet enough that day, for not a single boat had 
come in, and there were no men to be seen along- 
shore. There was a solemn company of lobster- 
coops or cages which had been brought in to be 
mended. They always amused Kate. She said 
they seemed to her like droll old women telling 
each other secrets. These were scattered about in 
different attitudes, and looked more confidential 
than usual. 

Just as we were going away we happened to see 
a man at work in one of the sheds. He was the 
fisherman whom we knew least of all; an odd-look- 
ing, silent sort of man, more sunburnt and weather- 
beaten than any of the others. We had learned 


102 


DEEP HA VEN. 


to know him by the bright red flannel shirt he 
always wore, and besides, he was lame ; some one 
told us he had had a bad fall once, on board ship. 
Kate and I had always wished we could find a 
chance to talk with him. He looked up at us 
pleasantly, and when we nodded and smiled, he said 
“ Good day ” in a gruff, hearty voice, and went on 
with his work, cleaning mackerel. 

“ Do you mind our watching you] ” asked Kate. 

“ No, ma'am ! ” said the fisherman emphatically. 
So there we stood. 

Those fish-houses were curious places, so differ- 
ent from any other kind of workshop. In this 
there was a seine, or part of one, festooned among 
the cross-beams overhead, and there were snarled 
fishing-lines, and barrows to carry fish in, like 
wheelbarrows without wheels ; there were the 
queer round lobster-nets, and “ kits ” of salt mack- 
erel, tubs of bait, and piles of clams; and some 
queer bones, and parts of remarkable fish, and 
lobster-claws of surprising size fastened on the 
walls for ornament. There was a pile of rubbish 
down at the end; I dare say it was all useful, how- 
ever, — there is such mystery about the business. 

Kate and I were never tired of hearing of the 
fish that come at different times of the year, and 


DANNY. 


103 


go away again, like the birds ; or of the actions 
of the dog-fish, which the ’longshore-men hate so 
bitterly ; and then there are such curious legends 
and traditions, of which almost all fishermen have 
a store. 

“I think mackerel are the prettiest fish that 
swim,” said I presently. 

“ So do I, miss,” said the man, “ not to say but 
I ’ve seen more fancy -looking fish down in southern 
waters, bright as any flower you ever see ; but 
a mackerel,” holding up one admiringly, “ why, 
they ’re so clean-built and trig-looking ! Put a 
cod alongside, and he looks as lumbering as an 
old-fashioned Dutch brig aside a yacht. 

“ Those are good-looking fish, but they an’t 
made much account of,” continued our friend, as 
he pushed aside the mackerel and took another 
tub. “ They ’re hake, I s’pose you know. But I 
forgot, — I can’t stop to bother with them now.” 
And he pulled forward a barrow full of small fish, 
flat and hard, with pointed, bony heads. 

“ Those are porgies, are n’t they ] ” asked Kate. 

“ Yes,” said the man, “an’ I ’m going to sliver 
them for 'the trawls.” 

We knew wliat the trawls were, and supposed 
that the porgies were to be used for bait ; and we 


104 


DEEP HA VEN. 


soon found out what “ slivering ” meant, by see- 
ing him take them by the head and cut a slice 
from first one side and then the other in such a 
way that the pieces looked not unlike smaller fish. 

“ It seems to me,” said I, “ that fishermen al- 
ways have sharper knives than other people.” 

“ Yes, we do like a sharp knife in our trade ; 
and then we are mostly strong-handed.” 

He was throwing the porgies’ heads and back- 
bones — all that was left of them after slivering — 
in a heap, and now several cats walked in as if 
they felt at home, and began a hearty lunch. 
“ What a troop of pussies there is round here,” 
said I ; “ I wonder what will become of them in 
the winter, — though, to be sure, the fishing goes 
on just the same.” 

“ The better part of them don’t get through the 
cold weather,” said Danny. “ Two or three of the 
old ones have been here for years, and are as much 
belonging to Deephaven as the meetin’-house; but 
the rest of them an’t to be depended on. You ’ll 
miss the young ones by the dozen, come spring. 
I don’t know myself but they move inland in the 
fall of the year; they ’re knowing enough, if that’s 
all!” 

Kate and I stood in the wide doorway, arm in 


DANNY. 


105 


arm, looking sometimes at the queer fisherman 
and the porgies, and sometimes out to sea. It 
was low tide ; the wind had I'iseii a little, and the 
heavy salt air blew toward us from the wet brown 
ledges in the rocky harbor. The sea was bright 
blue, and the sun was shining. Two gulls were 
swinging lazily to and fro ; there was a flock of 
sand-pipers down by the water’s edge, in a great 
hurry, as usual. 

Presently the fisherman spoke again, beginning 
with an odd laugh : “ I was scared last winter ! 
Jack Scudder and me, we were up in the Cap’n 
Manning storehouse hunting for a half-bar’l of 
salt the skipper said was there. It was an awful 
blustering kind of day, witn a thin icy rain blow- 
ing from all points at once 3 sea roaring as if it 
wished it could come ashore and put a stop to 
everything. Bad days at sea, them are ; rigging 
all froze up. As I was saying, we were hunting 
for a half-bar’l of salt, and I laid hold of a bar’l 
that had something heavy in the bottom, and 
tilted it up, and my eye! there was a stir and a 
scratch and a squeal, and out went some kind of 
a creatur, and I jumped back, not looking for 
anything live, but I see in a minute it was a 
cat ; and perhaps you think it is a big story, but 
5 * 


106 


DEEP HA VEN. 


there were eight more in there, hived in together 
to keep warm. I car’d ’em up some new fish 
that night ; they seemed short of provisions. We 
had n’t been out fishing as much as common, and 
they had n’t dared to be round the fish-houses 
much, for a fellow who came in on a coaster had 
a dog, and he used to chase ’em. Hard chance 
they had, and lots of ’em died, I guess ; but 
there seem to be some survivin’ relatives, an’ 
al’ays just so hungry ! I used to feed them some 
when I was ashore. I think likely you ’ve heard 
that a cat will fetch you bad luck ; but I don’t 
know ’s that made much difference to me. I kind 
of like to keep on the right side of ’em, too ; if 
ever I have a bad dream there ’s sure to be a cat 
in it ; but I was brought up to be clever to dumb 
beasts, an’ I guess it ’s my natur’. Except fish,” 
said Danny after a minute’s thought ; “ but then 
it never seems like they had feelin’s like creatur’s 
that live ashore.” And we all laughed heartily 
and felt well acquainted. 

“ I s’pose you misses will laugh if I tell ye I 
kept a kitty once myself.” This was said rather 
shyly, and there was evidently a stor}', so we were 
much interested, and Kate said, “ Please tell us 
about it ; was it at sea 1 ” 


DANNY. 


107 


“ Yes, it was at sea ; leastways, on a coaster. I 
got her in a sing’lar kind of way; it was one after- 
noon we were lying alongside Charlestown Bridge, 
and I heard a young cat screeching real pitiful ; 
and after I looked all round, I see her in the water 
clutching on to the pier of the bridge, and some 
little divils of boys were heaving rocks down at 
her. I got into the schooner’s tag-boat quick, I 
tell ye, and pushed off for her, ’n’ she let go just 
as I got there, ’n’ I guess you never saw a more 
miser’ble-looking creatur’ than I fished out of the 
water. Cold weather it was. Her leg was hurt, 
and her eye, and I thought first I ’d drop her over- 
board again, and then I did n’t, and I took her 
aboard the schooner and put her by the stove. I 
thought she might as well die where it was warm. 
She eat a little mite of chowder before night, but 
she was very slim ; but next morning, when I 
went to see if she was dead, she fell to licking my 
finger, and she did purr away like a dolphin. One 
of her eyes was out, where a stone had took her, 
and she never got any use of it, but she used to 
look at you so clever with the other, and she got 
well of her lame foot after a while. I got to be 
ter’ble fond of her. She was just the knowingest 
thing you ever saw, and she used to sleep along- 


108 


DEEPHA VEN. 


side of me in my bunk, and like as not she would 
go on deck with me when it was my watch. I 
was coasting then for a year and eight months, 
and I kept her all the time. We used to be in 
harbor consider’ble, and about eight o’clock in the 
forenoon I used to drop a line and catch her a 
couple of dinners. Now, it is cur’us that she 
used to know when I was fishing for her. She 
would pounce on them fish and carry them off and 
growl, and she knew when I got a bite, — she ’d 
watch the line ; but when we were mackereling 
she never give us any trouble. She would never 
lift a paw to touch any of our fish. She did n’t 
have the thieving ways common to most cats. 
She used to set round on deck in fair weather, 
and when the wind blew she al’ays kept herself 
below. Sometimes when we were in port she 
would go ashore awhile, and fetch back a bird or 
a mouse, but she w'ould n’t eat it till she come and 
showed it to me. She never wanted to stop long 
ashore, though I never shut her up; I always give 
her her liberty. I got a good deal of joking about 
her from the fellows, but she was a sight of com. 
pany. I don’ know as I ever had anything like 
me as much as she did. Not to say as I ever 
had much of any trouble with anybody, ashore or 


DANNY. 


109 


afloat. I ’m a still kind of fellow, for all I look so 
rough. 

“ But then, I han’t had a home, what I call a 
home, since I was going on nine year old.” 

“ How has that happened 1 ” asked Kate. 

“ Well, mother, she died, and I was bound out 
to a man in the tanning trade, and I hated him, 
and I hated the trade ; and when 1 was a little 
bigger I ran away, and I ’ve followed the sea ever 
since. I was n’t much use to him, I guess ; least- 
ways, he never took the trouble to hunt me up. - 

“About the best place I ever was in was a 
hospital. It was in foreign parts. Ye see I ’m 
crippled some 1 I fell from the topsail yard to the 
deck, and I struck my shoulder, and broke my 
leg, and banged myself all up. It was to a nuns’ 
hospital where they took me. All of the nuns 
were Catholics, and they wore big white things on 
their heads. I don’t suppose you ever saw any. 
Have you 1 Well, now, that ’s queer ! When I 
was first there I was scared of them ; they were 
real ladies, and I was n’t used to being in a house, 
any way. One of them, that took care of me most 
of the time, why, she would even set up half the 
night with me, and I could n’t begin to tell you 
how good-natured she was, an’ she ’d look real 




110 


DEEP HA YEN. 


sorry too. I used to be ugly, I ached so, along in 
the first of my being there, but I spoke of it when 
I was coming away, and she said it w'as all right. 
She used to feed me, that lady did; and there 
were some days I could ivt lift my head, and she 
w'ould rise it on her arm. She give me a little 
mite of a book, wdien I come away. I ’m not much 
of a hand at reading, but I always kept it on ac- 
count of her. She was so pleased when I got so ’s 
to set up in a chair and look out of the window. 
She wasn’t much of a hand to talk English. I 
did feel bad to come away from there ; I ’most 
wished I could be sick a while longer. I never 
said much of anything either, and I don’t know 
but she thought it was queer, but I am a dreadful 
clumsy man to say anything, and I got flustered. 
I don’t know ’s I mind telling you ; I was ’most 
a-crying. I ixsed to think I ’d lay by some money 
and ship for there and carry her something real 
pretty. But I don’t rank able-bodied seaman like 
I used, and it ’s as much as 1 can do to get a berth 
on a coaster ; I suppose I might go as cook. I 
liked to have died with my hurt at that hospital, 
but when I was getting well it made me think of 
when I w'as a mite of a chap to home before mother 
died, to be laying there in a clean bed with some- 


DANNY. 


Ill 


body to do for me. Guess you think I ’m a good 
hand to spin long yarns ; somehow it comes easy 
to talk to-day.” 

“ What became of your cat 1 ” asked Kate, after 
a pause, during which our friend sliced away at 
the porgies. 

“ I never rightfully knew ; it was in Salem har- 
bor, and a windy night. I was on deck con- 
sider’ble, for the schooner pitched lively, and once 
or twice she dragged her anchor. I never saw the 
kitty after she eat her supper. I remember I gave 
her some milk, — I used to buy her a pint once in 
a while for a treat ; I don’t know but she might 
have gone off on a cake of ice, but it did seem as 
if she had too much sense for that. Most likely 
she missed her footing, and fell overboard in the 
dark. She was marked real pretty, black and 
white, and kep’ herself just as clean ! She knew 
as well as could be when foul weather was coming ; 
she would bother round and act queer ; but when 
the sun was out she would sit round on deck as 
pleased as a queen. There ! I feel bad sometimes 
when I think of her, and I never went into Salem 
since without hoping that I should see her. I 
don’t know but if I was a-going to begin my life 
over again, I ’d settle down ashore and have a snug 


112 


DEEPHA VEN. 


little house and farm it. But I guess I shall do 
better at fishing. Give me a trig-built topsail 
schooner painted up nice, with a stripe on her, 
and clean sails, and a fresh wind with the sun a- 
shining, and I feel first-rate.” 

“ Do you believe that codfish swallow stones 
before a storm 1 ” asked Kate. I had been think- 
ing about the lonely fisherman in a sentimental 
way, and so irrelevant a question shocked me. “ I 
saw he felt slightly embarrassed at having talked 
about his affairs so much,” Kate told me after- 
ward, “and I thought we should leave him feeling 
more at his ease if we talked about fish for a 
while.” And sure enough he did seem relieved, 
and gave us his opinion about the codfish at once, 
adding that he never cared much for cod any way ; 
folks up country bought ’em a good deal, he heard. 
Give him a haddock right out of the water for his 
dinner ! 

“ I never can remember,” said Kate, “ whether 
it is cod or haddock that have a black stripe along 
their sides — ” 

“ 0, those are haddock,” said I ; “ they say that 
the Devil caught a haddock once, and it slipped 
through his fingers and got scorched ; so all the 
haddock had the same mark afterward.” 


DANNY. 


113 


“ Well, now, how did you know that old story ? ” 
said Danny, laughing heartily ; “ye must n’t believe 
all the old stories ye hear, mind ye ! ” 

“ 0, no,” said we. 

“Hullo! There’s Jim Toggerson’s boat close 
in shore. She sets low in the water, so he ’s done 
well. He and Skipper Scudder have been out 
deep-sea fishing since yesterday.” 

Our friend pushed the porgies back into a cor- 
ner, stuck his knife into a beam, and we hurried 
down to the shore. Kate and I sat on the peb- 
bles, and he went out to the moorings in a du’ty 
dory to help unload the fish. 

We afterward saw a great deal of Danny, as all 
the men called him. But though Kate and I tried 
our best and used our utmost skill and tact to 
make him tell us more about himself, he never 
did. But perhaps there was nothing more to be 
told. 

The day we left Deephaven we went down to 
the shore to say good by to him and to some other 
friends, and he said, “ Doin’, are ye? Well, I’m 
sorry ; ye ’ve treated me first-rate ; the Lord bless 
ye ! ” and then was so much mortified at the way 
he had said farewell that he turned and fled round 
the corner of the fish-house. 

H 




i]LD Captain Sands was one of the most 
prominent citizens of Deephaven, and a 
very good friend of Kate’s and mine. 
AVe often met him, and grew much interested in 
him before we knew him well He had a reputa- 
tion in town for being peculiar and somewhat vision- 
ary ; but every one seemed to like him, and at last 
one morning, when we happened to be on our way 
to the wharves, we stopped at the door of an old 
warehouse which we had never seen opened befoi'e. 
Captain Sands sat just inside, smoking his pipe, 
and we said good morning, and asked him if he 
did not think there was a fog coming in by and by. 
We had thought a little of going out to the light- 
house. The cap’ll rose slowly, and came out so that 
he could see farther round to the east. “ There ’s 
some scud coming in a’ready,” said he. “ None 
to speak of yet, I don’t know ’s you can see it, — 
yes, you ’re right ; there ’s a heavy bank of fog 


f 




CAPTAIN SANTfS. 


115 


lyin’ off, but it won’t be in under two or three 
hours yet, unless the wind backs round more and 
freshens up. Wei’e n’t thinking of going out, were 
yel” 

“ A little,” said Kate, “ but we had nearly given 
it up. We are getting to be very weather-wise, 
and we pride ourselves on being quick at seeing 
fogs.” At which thecap’n smiled and said we were 
consider’ble young to know much about weather, 
but it looked well that we took some interest in 
it ; most young people were fools aboiit weather, 
and would just as soon set off to go anywhere right 
under the edge of a thunder-shower. “ Come in 
and set down, won’t ye 1 ” he added ; “ it ain’t 
much of a place ; I ’ve got a lot of old stuff stowed 
away here that the women-folks don’t want up to 
the house. I ’m a great hand for keeping things.” 
And he looked round fondly at the contents of the 
wide low room. “I come down here once in a 
while and let in the sun, and sometimes I want to 
* hunt up something or ’nother ; kind of stow-away 
place, ye see.” And then he laughed apologetically, 
rubbing his hands together, and looking out to 
sea again as if he wished to appear unconcerned ; 
yet we saw that he wondered if we thought it 
ridiculous for a man of his age to have treasured 


116 


DEEPHA VEN. 


up SO much trumpery iu that cobwebby place. 
There were some whole oars and the sail of his 
boat and two or three killicks and painters, not to 
forget a heap of worn-out oars and sails in one 
corner and a sailor’s hammock slung across the 
beam overhead, and there were some sailor’s chests 
and the capstan of a ship and innumerable boxes 
which all seemed to be stuffed full, besides no end 
of things lying on the floor and packed away on 
shelves and hanging to rusty big-headed nails in 
the wall. I saw some gi'eat lumps of coral, and 
large, rough shells, a great hornet’s nest, and a 
monstrous lobster-shell. The cap’n had cobbled 
and tied up some remarkable old chairs for the 
accommodation of himself and his friends. 

“ What a nice place ! ” said Kate in a frank, 
delighted way which could not have failed to be 
gratifying. 

“ Well, no,” said the cap’n, with his slow smile, 

“ it ain’t what you ’d rightly call ‘nice,’ as I know 
of : it ain’t never been cleared out all at once since * 
I began putting in. There ’s nothing that ’s 
worth anything, either, to anybody but me. Wife, 
she ’s said to me a hundred times, ‘ Why don’t 
you overhaul them old things and burn ’em 1 ’ 
She ’s al’ays at me about letting the property, as 


CAPTAIN SANDS. 


117 


if it were a corner-lot in Broadway. That’s all 
women-folks know about business ! ” And here the 
captain caught himself tripping, and looked uneasy 
for a minute. “ I suppose I might have let it for 
a fish-house, but it ’s most too far from the shore 
to be handy — and — well — there are some 
things here that I set a good deal by.” 

“ Is n’t that a sword-fish’s sword in that piece 
of wood 1 ” Kate asked presently ; and was an- 
swered that it was found broken off as we saw 
it, in the hull of a wreck that went ashore on 
Blue P’int when the captain was a young man, 
and he had sawed it out and kept it ever since, 
— fifty-nine years. Of course we went closer to 
look at it, and we both felt a great sympathy for 
this friend of ours, because we have the same 
fashion of keeping worthless treasures, and we un- 
derstood perfectly how dear such things may be. 

“ Do you mind if we look round a little 1 ” I 
asked doubtfully, for I knew how I should hate 
hiiving strangers look over my own treasury. But 
Captain Sands looked pleased at our interest, and 
said cheerfully that we might overhaul as much 
as we chose. Kate discovered first an old battered 
wooden figure-head of a ship, — a woman’s head 
with long curly hair falling over the shoulders. 

li 


118 


DEEP HA VEN. 


The paint was almost gone, and the dust covered 
most of what was left ; still there was a wonderful 
spirit and grace, and a wild, weird beauty which 
attracted us exceedingly ; but the captain could 
only tell us that it had belonged to the wreck of 
a Danish brig which had been driven on the reef 
where the lighthouse stands now, and his father 
had found this on the long sands a day or two 
afterward. “ That was a dreadful storm,” said 
the captain. “ I ’ve heard the old folks tell about 
it; it was when I was only a year or two old. 
There were three merchantmen wrecked within 
five miles of Deephaven. This one was all stove 
to splinters, and they used to say she had treasure 
aboard. When I was small I used to have a great 
idea of going out there to the rocks at low water 
and trying to find some gold, but I never made 
out no great.” And he smiled indulgently at the 
thought of his youthful dream. 

“ Kate,” said I, “ do you see what beauties these 
Turk’s-head knots are?” We had been taking a 
course of first lessons in knots from Danny, and 
had followed by learning some charmingly intri- 
cate ones from Captain Lant, the stranded mariner 
who lived on a farm two miles or so inland. Kate 
came over to look at the Turk’s-heads, which were 


CAPTAIN SANDS. 


119 


at either end of the rope handles of a little dark- 
blue chest. 

Captain Sands tunied in his chair and nodded 
approval. “ That ’s a neat piece of work, and it 
was a first-rate seaman who did it ; he ’s dead and 
gone years ago, poor young fellow ; an I-talian 
he was, who sailed on the Ranger three or four 
long voyages. He fell from the mast-head on the 
voyage home from Callao. Cap’n Manning and 
old Mr. Lorimer, they owned the Ranger, and 
when she come into port and they got the news 
they took it as much to heart as if he ’d been 
some relation. He was smart as a whip, and had 
a way with him, and the pleasantest kind of a 
voice ; you couldn’t help liking him. They found 
out that he had a mother alive in Port Mahon, 
and they sent his pay and some money he had in 
the bank at Riverport out to her by a ship that 
was going to the Mediterranean. He had some 
clothes in his chest, and they sold those and sent 
her the money, — all but some trinkets they sup- 
posed he was keeping for her ; I rec’lect he used 
to speak conijider’ble about his mother. I shipped 
one v’y’ge with him before the mast, before I went 
out mate of the Daylight. I happened to be in 
port the time the Ranger got in, an’ I see this chist 


120 


DEEP HA VEN. 


lying round in Cap’n Manning’s storehouse, and I 
offered to give him what it was worth ; but we was 
good friends, and he told me take it if T wanted it, 
it was no use to him, and I ’ve kept it ever since. 

“There are some of his traps in it now, I believe; 
ye can look.” And we took off some tangled cod- 
lines and opened the chest. There was only a round 
wooden box in the till, and in some idle hour at 
sea the young sailor had carved his initials and an 
anchor and the date on the cover. We found 
some sail-needles and a palm in this “ kit,” as the 
sailors call it, and a little string of buttons with 
some needles and yarn and thread in a neat little 
bag, which perhaps his mother had made for him 
when he started off on his first voyage. Besides 
these things there was only a fanciful little broken 
buckle, green and gilt, which he might have picked 
up in some foreign street, and his protection- 
paper carefully folded, wherein he was certified as 
being a citizen of the United States, with dark 
complexion and dark hair. 

“ He was one of the pleasantest fellows that 
ever I shipped with,” said the captain, with a gruff 
tenderness in his voice. “Always willin’ to do his 
work himself, and like 's not when the other fel- 
lows up the rigging were cold, or ugly about some- 


CAPTAIN SANDS. 


121 


thing or ’nother, he ’d say something that would 
set them all laughing, and somehow it made you 
good-natured to see him round. He was brought 
up a Catholic, I s’pose; anyway, he had some beads, 
and sometimes they would joke him about ’em on 
board ship, but he would blaze up in a minute, 
ugly as a tiger. I never saw him mad about any- 
thing else, though he would n’t stand it if anybody 
tried to ci’owd him. He fell from the main-to’- 
gallant yard to the deck, aud was dead when they 
picked him up. They were off the Bermudas. I 
suppose he lost his balance, but I never could see 
how; he was sure-footed, and as quick as a cat. 
They said they saw him try to catch at the stay, 
but there was a heavy sea running, and the ship 
rolled just so ’s to let him through between the 
rigging, and he struck the deck like a stone. I 
don’t know ’s that chest has been opened those 
ten years, — I declare it carries me back to look 
at those poor little traps of his. Well, it ’s the way 
of the world ; we think we ’re somebody, and we 
have our day, but it is n’t long afore we ’re for- 
gotten.” 

The captain reached over for the paper, and 
taking out a clumsy pair of steel-bowed spectacle.s, 
read it through carefully. “ I ’ll warrant he took 
6 


122 


DEEP BA VEN. 


good care of this,” said he. “ He was an I-talian, 
and no more of an American citizen than a Chinese ; 
I M’onder he had n’t called himself John Jones, 
that ’s the name most of the foreigners used to take 
when they got their papers. I remember once I 
was sick with a fever in Chelsea Hospital, and one 
morning they came bringing in the mate of a Por- 
tugee brig on a stretcher, and the surgeon asked 
what his name was. ‘John Jones,’ says he. ‘0, 
say something else,’ says the surgeon ; ‘we’ve got 
five John Joneses here a’ready, and it ’s getting 
to be no name at all.’ Sailors are great hands for 
false names ; they have a trick of using them when 
they have any money to leave ashore, for fear their 
shipmates will go and draw it out. I suppose there 
are thousands of dollars unclaimed in New York 
banks, where men have left it charged to their 
false names ; then they get lost at sea or some- 
thing, and never go to get it, and nobody knows 
whose it is. They ’re curious folks, take ’em alto- 
gether, sailors is ; specially these foreign fellows 
that wander about from ship to ship. They ’re 
getting to be a dreadful low set, too, of late years. 
It ’s the last thing I ’d want a boy of mine to do, 
— ship before the mast with one of these mixed 
crews. It ’s a dog’s life, anyway, and the risks and 


CAPTAIN SANDS, 


123 


the chances against you are awful. It ’s a good 
while before you can lay up anything, unless you 
are part owner. I saw all the p’ints a good deal 
plainer after I quit followin’ the sea myself, though 
I ’ve always been more or less into navigation until 
this last war come on. I know when I was ship’s 
husband of the Polly and Susan there was a young 
man went out cap’n of her, — her last voyage, and 
she never was heard from. He had a wife and two 
or three little children, and for all he was so smart, 
they would have been about the same as beggars, 
if I had n’t happened to have his life insured the 
day I was having the papers made out for the 
ship. I happened to think of it. Five thousand 
dollars there was, and I sent it to the widow along 
with his primage. She had n’t expected nothing, 
or next to nothing, and she was pleased, I tell ye.” 

“ I think it was very kind in you to think of 
that. Captain Sands,” said Kate. And the old man 
said, flushing a little, “ Well, I ’m not so smart as 
some of the men who started when I did, aud 
some of ’em went ahead of me, but some ' / ’em 
did n’t, after all. I ’ve tried to be honest, and 
to do just about as nigh right as I could, and you 
know there ’s an old sayin’ that a cripple in the 
right road will beat a racer in the wrong.” 



THE CIRCUS AT DENBY. 



ATE and I looked forward to a certain 
Saturday with as much eagerness as if 
we had been little school-boys, for on that 
day we were to go to a circus at Denby, a town 
perhaps eight miles inland. There had not been 
a circus so near Deephaven for a long time, and 
nobody had dared to believe the first rumor of it, 
until two dashing young men had deigned to come 
themselves to put up the big posters on the end 
of ’Bijah Mauley’s barn. All the boys in town 
came as soon as possible to see these amazing 
pictures, and some were wretched in their secret 
hearts at the thought that they might not see the 
show itself. Tommy Dockum was more interested 
than any one else, and mentioned the subject so 
frequently one day when he went blackberrying 
with us, that we gi-ew enthusiastic, and told each 
other what fun it would be to go, for everybody 
would be there, and it would be the greatest loss 


THE CIRCUS AT DENBY. 


125 


to ns if we were absent. I thought I had lost my 
chilclisli fondness for circuses, but it came back 
redoubled ; and Kate may contradict me if she 
chooses, but I am sure she never looked forward 
to the Easter Oratorio with half the pleasure 
she did to this “ caravan,” as most of the people 
called it. 

We felt that it was a great pity that any of the 
boys and girls should be left lamenting at home, 
and finding that there were some of our acquaint- 
ances and Tommy’s who saw no chance of going, 
we engaged Jo Sands and Leander Dockum to 
carry them to Denby in two fish-wagons, with 
boards laid across for the extra seats. We saw 
them join the straggling train of carriages which 
had begun to go through the village from all along 
shore, soon after daylight, and they started on 
their journey shouting and carousing, with their 
pockets crammed with early apples and other 
provisions. We thought it would have been fun 
enough to see the people go by, for we had had no 
idea until then how many inhabitants that coun- 
try held. 

We had asked Mrs. Kew to go with us; but she 
was half an hour later than she had promised, for, 
since there was no wind, she could not come ashore 


126 


DEEPHA VEN. 


in the sail-boat, and Mr. Kew had had to row her 
in in the dory. We saw the boat at last nearly 
in shore, and drove down to meet it ; even the 
horse seemed to realize what a gi’eat day it was, 
and showed a disposition to friskiness, evidently 
as surprising to himself as to us. 

Mrs. Kew was funnier that day than we had 
ever known her, which is saying a great deal, and 
we should not have had half so good a time if she 
had not been with us ; although she lived in the 
lighthouse, and had no chance to “ see passing,” 
which a woman prizes so highly in the country, 
she had a wonderful memory for faces, and could 
tell us the names of all Deephaveners and of most 
of the people we met outside its limits. She 
looked impressed and solemn as she hurried up 
from the water’s edge, giving Mr. Kew some part- 
ing charges over her shoulder as he pushed off 
the boat to go back ; but after we had convinced 
her that the delay had not troubled us, she seemed 
more cheerful. It was evident that she felt the 
importance of the occasion, and that she was 
pleased at our having chosen her for company. 
She threw back her veil entirely, sat very straight, 
and took immense pains to bow to every acquaint- 
ance whom she met. She woi'e her best Sunday 


THE CIRCUS AT EENBY, 


127 


clothes, and her manner W6is formal for the first 
few minutes ; it was evident that she felt we were 
moating xmder unusual circumstances, and that, 
although we had often met before on the friend- 
liest terms, our having asked her to make this 
excursion in public reqxiired a different sort of 
behavior at her hands, and a due amount of cere- 
mony and propriety. But this state of things did 
not last long, as she soon made a remark at which 
Kate and I laughed so heartily in lighthouse-ac- 
quaintance fashion, that she unbent, and gave her 
whole mind to enjoying herself. 

When we came by the store where the post- 
office was kept we saw a small knot of people 
gathered round the door, and stopped to see what 
had happened. There was a forlorn horse stand- 
ing near, with his harness tied up with fuzzy ends 
of rope, and the wagon was cobbled together with 
pieces of board ; the whole craft looked as if it 
might be wrecked with the least jar. In the 
wagon were four or five stupid-looking boys and 
girls, one of whom was crying softly. Their father 
was sick, some one told us. “He was took faint, 
but ho is coming to all right ; they have give 
him something to take : their name is Craper, and 
they live way over beyond the Ridge, on Stone 


128 


DEEPHA VEN. 


Hill. They were goin’ over to Denby to the cir- 
cus, and the man was calc’lating to get doctored, 
but I d’ know ’s he can get so fur ; he ’s powerful 
slim looking to me.” Kate and I went to see if 
we could be of any use, and when we went into 
the store we saw the man leaning back in his 
chair, looking ghastly pale, and as if he were far 
gone in consumption. Kate spoke to him, and he 
said he was better ; he had felt bad all the way 
along, but he had n’t given up. He was pitiful, 
poor fellow, with his evident attempt at dressing 
up. He had the bushiest, dustiest red hair and 
whiskers, whicli made the pallor of his face still 
more striking, and his illness had thinned and 
paled his rough, clumsy hands. I thought what a 
hard piece of work it must have been for him to 
start for the circus that morning, and how^ kind- 
hearted he must be to have made such an effort 
for his children’s pleasure. As we went out they 
stared at us gloomily. The shadow of their disap- 
pointment touched and chilled our pleasure. 

Somebody had turned the horse so that he 
was heading toward home, and by his actions he 
showed that he was the only one of the party who 
was glad. We were so sorry for the children ; 
perhaps it had promised to be the happiest day of 


THE CIRCUS AT DENBY. 


129 


their lives, and now they must go back to their 
uninteresting home without having seen the great 
show. 

“ I am so sorry you are disappointed,” said Kate, 
as we were wondering how the man who had fol- 
lowed us could ever climb into the wagon. 

“ Heh ? ” said he, blankly, as if he did not know 
what her words meant. “ What fool has been a 
turning o’ this horse 1 ” he asked a man who was 
looking on. 

“ Why, which way be ye goin’ 1 ” 

“ To the circus,” said Mr. Craper, with decision, 
“ where d’ ye s’pose 1 That ’s where I started for, 
anyways.” And he climbed in and glanced round to 
count the children, struck the horse with the willow 
switch, and they started off briskly, while every- 
body laughed. Kate and I joined Mrs. Kew, who 
had enjoyed the scene. 

“Well, there!” said she, “I wonder the folks 
in the old North burying-gi’ound ain’t a-rising up 
to go to Denby to that caravan ! ” 

We reached Denby at noon ; it was an unin- 
teresting town which had growm up around some 
mills. There was a great commotion in the streets, 
and it was evident that we had lost much in not 
having seen the procession. There w^as a great 

6* I 


130 


DEEP HA VEN. 


deal of business going on in the shops, and there 
were two or three hand-organs at large, near one 
of which we stopped awhile to listen, just after 
we had met Leander and given the horse into his 
charge. Mrs. Kew finished her shopping as soon 
as possible, aud we hurried toward the great tents, 
where all the flags were flying. I think I have 
not told you that we were to have the benefit of 
seeing a menagerie in addition to the circus, and 
you may be sure we went faithfully round to see 
everything that the cages held. 

I cannot truthfully say that it was a good 
show ; it was somewhat dreary, now that I think 
of it quietly and without excitement. The crea- 
tures looked tired, and as if they had been on the 
road for a great many years. The animals were all 
old, and there was a shabby great elephant whose 
look of general discouragement went to my heart, 
for it seemed as if he were miserably conscious of 
a misspent life. He stood dejected and motionless 
at one side of the tent, and it was hard to believe 
that there was a spark of vitality left in him. A 
great number of the people had never seen an ele- 
phant before, and we heard a thin little old man, 
who stood near us, say delightedly, “ There ’s the 
old creator’, and no mistake, Ann ’Liza. I wanted 


THE CIRCUS AT DERBY. 


131 


to see him most of anything. My sakes alive, 
ain’t he big ! ” 

And Ann ’Liza, who was stout and sleepy-look- 
ing, droned out, “ Ye-es, there ’s consider’ble of 
him ; but he looks as if he ain’t got no animation.” 

Kate and I turned away and laughed, while 
Mrs. Kew said confidentially, as the couple moved 
away, “ She need n’t be a reflectin’ on the poor 
beast. That ’s Mis Seth Tanner, and there is n’t 
a woman in Deephaven nor East Parish to be 
named the same day with her for laziness.’ I ’m 
glad she did n’t catch sight of me ; she ’d have 
talked about nothing for a fortnight.” 

There was a picture of a huge snake in Deep- 
haven, and I was just wondering where he could 
be, or if there ever had been one, when we heard 
a boy ask the same question of the man whose 
thankless task it was to stir up the lions with a 
stick to make them roar. “ The snake ’s dead,” 
he answered good-naturedly. “ Did n’t you have 
to dig an awful long grave for him ? ” asked the 
boy ; but the man said he reckoned they curled 
him up some, and smiled as he turned to his lions, 
who looked as if they needed a tonic. Every- 
body lingered longest before the monkeys, who 
seemed to be the only lively creatures in the 


132 


BEEP HA VEN. 


whole collection ; and finally we made our way 
into the other tent, and perched ourselves on a 
high seat, from whence we had a capital view of 
the audience and the ring, and could see the peo- 
ple come in. Mrs. Kew was on the lookout for 
acquaintances, and her spirits as well as our own 
seemed to rise higher and higher. She was on 
the alert, moving her head this way and that to 
catch sight of people, giving us a running com- 
mentary in the mean time. It was very pleasant 
to see a person so happy as Mrs. Kew was that 
day, and I dare say in speaking of the occasion 
she would say the same thing of Kate and me, — 
for it was such a good time ! We bought some 
peanuts, without which no circus seems complete, 
and we listened to the conversations which were 
being carried on around us while we were wait- 
ing for the performance to begin. There were 
two old farmers whom we had noticed occasionally 
in Deephaven ; one was telling the other, with 
great confusion of pronouns, about a big pig 
which had lately been killed. “John did feel 
dreadful disappointed at having to kill now,” we 
heard him say, “ bein’ as he had calc’lated to kill 
along near Thanksgivin’ time ; there was goin’ to 
be a new moon then, and he expected to get sev- 


THE CIRCUS AT DENBY. 


133 


enty-five or a hundred pound more on to him. 
But he did n’t seem to gain, and me and ’Bijah 
both told him he ’d be better to kill now, while 
everything was favor’ble, and if he set out to 
wait something might happen to him, and then 
I ’ve always held that you can’t get no hog only 
just so fur, and for my part I don’t like these great 
overgrown creatur’s. I like well enough to see a 
hog that ’ll w'eigh six hunderd, just for the beauty 
on ’t, but for my eatin’ give me one that ’ll just 
rise three. ’Bijah ’s accurate, and he says he is 
goin’ to weigh risin’ five hundred and fifty. I 
shall stop, as I go home, to John’s wife’s broth- 
er’s and see if they ’ve got the particulars yet ; 
John was goin’ to get the scales this morning. I 
guess likely consider’ble many ’ll gather there to- 
morrow after meeting. John did n’t calc’late to 
cut up till Monday.” 

“ I guess likely I ’ll stop in to-morrow,” said 
the other man ; “ I like to see a han’some hog. 
Chester White, you said 1 Consider them best, 
don’t ye 1 ” But this question never was an- 
swered, for the greater part of the circus company 
in gorgeous trappings came parading in. 

The circus was like all other circuses, except that 
it was shabbier than most, and the performed 


134 


DEEPHA VEN. 


seemed to have less heart in it than usual. They 
did their best, and went through with their parts 
conscientiously, but they looked as if they never 
had had a good time in their lives. The audience 
was hilarious, and cheered and laughed at the tired 
clowui until he looked as if he thought his speeches 
might possibly be funny, after all. We were so 
glad w'e had pleased the poor thing ; and when he 
sang a song our satisfaction was still greater, and 
so he sang it all over again. Perhaps he had been 
associating with people who were used to circuses. 
The afternoon was hot, and the boys with Japanese 
fans and trays of lemonade did a remarkable busi- 
ness for so late in the season ; the brass band on 
the other side of the tent shrieked its very best, 
and all the young men of the region had brought 
their girls, and some of these countless pairs of 
country lovers we w^atched a great deal, as they 
“ kept company ” with more or less depth of satis- 
faction in each other. We had a grand chance to 
see the fashions, and there were many old people 
and a great number of little children, and some 
families had evidently locked their house door 
behind them, since they had brought both the dog 
and the baby. 

“ Does n’t it seem as if you were a child again ? ” 


THE CIRCUS AT DEN BY. 


135 


Kate asked me. “ I am sure this is just the 
same as the first circus I ever saw. It grows 
more and more familiar, and it puzzles me to 
think they should not have altered in the least 
while I have changed so much, and have even had 
time to grow up. You don’t know how it is making 
me remember other things of which I have not 
thought for years. I was seven years old when 
I went that first time. Uncle Jack invited me. I 
had a new parasol, and he laughed because I would 
hold it over my shoulder when the sun was in my 
face. He took me into the side-shows and bought 
me everything I asked for, on the way home, and 
we did not get home until twilight. The rest of 
the family had dined at four o’clock and gone out 
for a long drive, and it was such fun to have our 
dinner by ourselves. I sat at the head of the 
table in mamma’s place, and when Bridget came 
down and insisted that I must go to bed, Uncle 
Jack came softly up stairs and sat by the window, 
smoking and telling me stories. He ran and hid 
in the closet when we heard mamma coming up, 
and when she found him out by the cigar-smoke, 
and made believe scold him, I thought she was in 
earnest, and begged him olf. Yes ; and I remem- 
ber that Bridget sat in the next room, making her 


136 


DEEPHA VEN. 


new dress so she could wear it to church next day. 
I thought it was a beautiful dress, and besought 
mamma to have one like it. It was bright green 
with yellow spots all over it,” said Kate. “ Ah, 
poor Uncle Jack ! he was so good to me ! We 
were always telling stories of what we would do 
when I was grown up. He died in Canton the 
next year, and I cried myself ill ; but for a long 
time I thought he might not be dead, after all, and 
might come home any day. He used to seem so 
old to me, and he really was just out of college and 
not so old as I am now. That day at the circus 
he had a pink rosebud in his buttonhole, and — 
ah ! when have I ever thought of this before ! — a 
woman sat before us who had a stiff little cape on 
her bonnet like a shelf, and I carefully put peanuts 
round the edge of it, and when she moved her 
head they would fall. I thought it was the best 
fun in the world, and I wished Uncle Jack to ride 
the donkey ; I was sure he could keep on, because 
his horse had capered about with him one day on 
Beacon Street, and I thought him a perfjgct rider, 
since nothing had happened to him then.” 

“I remember,” said Mrs. Kew, presently, “that 
just before I was married ‘ he ’ took me over to 
Wareham Corners to a caravan. My sister Han* 


THE CIRCUS AT DEN BY. 


137 


nah and the young man who was keeping company 
with her went too. I have n’t been to one since 
till to-day, and it does carry me back same’s it 
does you, Miss Kate. It does n’t seem more than 
five years ago, and what would I have thought if 
I had known ‘ he ’ and I were going to keep a light- 
house and be contented there, what ’s more, and 
sometimes not get ashore for a fortnight ; settled, 
gray-headed old folks ! We were gay enough in 
those days. I know old Miss Sabrina Smith warned 
me that I ’d better think twice before I took up 
with Tom Kew, for he was a light-minded young 
man. I speak o’ that to him in the winter-time, 
when he sets reading the almanac half asleep and 
I ’m knitting, and the wind’s a’ howling and the 
waves coming ashore on those rocks as if they 
wished they could put out the light and blow down 
the lighthouse. We were reflected on a good deal 
for going to that caravan ; some of the old folks 
did n’t think it was improvin’ — Well, I should 
think that man was a trying to break his neck ! ” 
Coming out of the great tent was disagreeable 
enough, and we seemed to have chosen the worst 
time, for the crowd pushed fiercely, though I sup- 
pose nobody was in the least hurry, and we were 
all severely jammed, while from somewhere under- 


138 


DEEPHA VEN. 


neath came the wails of a deserted dog. We had 
not meant to see the side-shows, and went care- 
lessly past two or three tents ; but when we came 
in sight of the picture of the Kentucky giantess, 
we noticed that Mrs. Kew looked at it wistfully, 
and we immediately asked if she cared anything 
about going to see the wonder, whereupon she con- 
fessed that she never heard of such a thing as a 
woman’s weighing six hundred and fifty pounds, 
so we all three went in. There were only two 
or three persons inside the tent, beside a little boy 
who played the hand-organ. 

The Kentucky giantess sat in two chairs on a 
platform, and there was a large cage of monkeys 
just beyond, toward w'hich Kate and I went at 
once. “ Why, she is n’t more than two thirds as 
big as the picture,” said Mrs. Kew, in a regretful 
whisper ; “ but I guess she ’s big enough ; does n’t 
she look discouraged, poor creatur’ 1 ” Kate and 
I felt ashamed of ourselves for being there. No 
matter if she had consented to be carried round 
for a show, it must have been horrible to be stared 
at and joked about day after day ; and we gravely 
looked at the monkeys, and in a few minutes 
turned to see if Mrs. Kew were not ready to come 
away, when to our surprise we saw that she was 


TEE CIRCUS AT DEN BY. 


139 


talking to the giantess with great interest, and we 
went nearer. 

“ I thought your face looked natural the min- 
ute I set foot* inside the door,” said Mrs. Kew; 
“ but you 've — altered some since I saw you, and 
I could n’t place you till I heard you speak. Why, 
you used to be spare ; I ani amazed, Marilly ! 
Where are your folks % ” 

“ I don’t wonder you are surprised,” said the 
giantess. “ I was a good ways from this when you 
knew me, was n’t 1 1 But father he run through 
with every cent he had before he died, and ‘he’ took 
to drink and it killed him after a while, and then 
I begun to grow worse and worse, till I could n’t 
do nothing to earn a dollar, and everybody was a 
coming to see me, till at last I used to ask ’em 
ten cents apiece, and I scratched along somehow 
till this man came round and heard of me, and he 
offered me my keep and good pay to go along with 
him. He had another giantess before me, but she 
had begun to fall away consider’ble, so he paid 
her off and let her go. This other giantess was 
an awful expense to him, she was such an eater ; 
now I don’t have no great of an appetite,” — this 
was said plaintively, — “ and he ’s raised my pay 
since I Ve been with him because we did so well 


140 


DEEPHA VEN. 


I took up with his offer because I was nothing 
but a drag and never will be. I ’ni as comfortable 
as I can be, but it ’s a pretty hard business, ^ly 
oldest boy is able to do for himself, but he ’s mar- 
ried this last year, and his wife don’t want me. I 
don’t know ’s I blame her either. It would be 
something like if I had a daughter now ; but there, 
I ’m getting to like travelling first-rate ; it gives 
anybody a good deal to think of.” 

“ I was asking the folks about you when I was 
up home the early part of the summer,” said Airs. 
Kew, “ but nil they knew was that you were living 
out in New York State. Have you been living in 
Kentucky long I I saw it on the picture outside.” 

“ No,” said the giantess, “ that was a picture 
the man bought cheap from another show that 
broke up last year. It says six hundred and fifty 
pounds, but I don’t weigh more than four hundred. 
I have n’t been w^eighed for some time past. Be- 
tween you and me I don’t weigh so much as that, 
but you must n’t mention it, for it w'ould spoil my 
reputation, and might bender my getting another 
engagement.” And then the poor giantess lost 
her professional look and tone as she said, “ I be- 
lieve I ’d rather die than grow any bigger. I do 
lose heart sometimes, and wish I was a smart wo- 


THE CIRCUS AT DENBY. 


141 


man and could keep house. I ’d be smarter than 
ever I was when I had the chance ; I tell you 
that ! Is Tom along with you 1 ” 

“ No. I came with these young ladies, Miss 
Lancaster and Miss Denis, who are stopping over 
to Deephaven for the summer.” Kate and I 
turned as we heard this introduction ; we were 
standing close by, and I am proud to say that I 
never saw Kate treat any one more politely than 
she did that absurd, pitiful creature with the gilt 
crown and many bracelets. It was not that she 
said much, but there was such an exquisite cour- 
tesy in her manner, and an apparent unconscious- 
ness of there being anything in the least surprising 
or uncommon about the giantess. 

Just then a party of people came in, and Mrs. 
Kew said good by reluctantly. “ It has done me 
sights of good to see you,” said our new acquaint- 
ance ; “ I was feeling down-hearted just before you 
came in. I ’m pleased to see somebody that 
remembers me as I used to be.” And they shook 
hands in a w^ay that meant a great deal, and when 
Kate and I said good afternoon the giantess looked 
at us gratefully, and said, “ I ’m very much obliged 
to you for coming in, young ladies.” 

“ Walk in ! walk in ! ” the man was shouting 


142 


DEEPHA VEN. 


as we came away. “ Walk in and see the wonder 
of the world, ladies and gentlemen, — the largest 
woman ever seen in America, — the great Ken- 
tucky giantess ! ” 

“Wouldn’t you have liked to stay longer!” 
Kate asked Mrs. Kew as we came down the street. 
But she answered that it would be no satisfaction ; 
the people were coming in, and she would have no 
chance to talk. “ I never knew her very well ; she 
is younger than I, and she used to go to meeting 
where 1 did, b\it she lived five or six miles from our 
house. She ’s had a hard time of it, according to her 
account,” said Mrs. Kew. “ She used to be a dread- 
ful flighty, high-tempered girl, but she ’s lost that 
now, I can see by her eyes. I was running over in 
my mind to see if there was anything I could do for 
her, but I don’t know as there is. She said the man 
who hired her was kind. I guess your treating her 
so polite did her as much good as anything. She 
used to be real ambitious. I had it on my tongue’s 
end to ask her if she could n’t get a few days’ 
leave and come out to stop with me, but I thought 
just in time that she ’d sink the dory in a minute. 
There ! seeing her has took away all the fun,” said 
Mrs. Kew ruefully; and we were all dismal for a 
while, but at last, after we were fairly started for 
home, we began to be merry again. 


THE CIRCUS AT DENBY. 


143 


We passed the Craper family whom we had seen 
at the store in the morning ; the children looked 
as stupid as ever, but the father, I am sorry to say, 
had been tempted to drink more whiskey than 
was good for him. He had a bright flush on his 
cheeks, and he was flourishing his whip, and 
hoarsely singing some meaningless tune. “ Poor 
creature ! ” said I, “ I should think this day’s 
pleasuring would kill him.” “ Now, would n’t you 
think so 1 ” said Mrs. Kew, sympathizingly ; “ but 
the truth is, you could n’t kill one of those Cra- 
pers if you pounded him in a mortar.” 

We had a pleasant drive home, and we kept 
Mrs. Kew to supper, and afterward went down to 
the shore to see her set sail for home. Mr. Kew 
had come in some time before, and had been wait- 
ing for the moon to rise. Mrs. Kew told us that 
she should have enough to think of for a year, she 
had enjoyed the day so much ; and we stood on 
the pebbles watching the boat out of the harbor, 
and wishing ourselves on board, it was such a 
beautiful evening. 

We went to another show that summer, the 
memory of which will never fade. It is some- 
what impertinent to call it a show, and “ public 


144 


DEEP HA VEN. 


entertainment” is equally inappropriate, though 
we certainly were entertained. It had been rain- 
ing for two or three days ; the Deephavenites 
spoke of it as “a spell of weather.” Just after 
tea, one Thursday evening, Kate and I went down 
to the post-office. When we opened the great hall 
door, the salt air was delicious, but we found the 
town apparently wet through and discouraged ; 
and though it had almost stopped raining just 
then, there was a Scotch mist, like a snow-storm 
with the chill taken off, and the Chantrey elms 
dripped hurriedly, and creaked occasionally in the 
east-wind. 

“ There will not be a cap^n on the wharves for 
a week after this," said I to Kate ; “ only think 
of the cases of rheumatism ! ” 

We stopped for a few minutes at the Carews’, 
who were as much surprised to see us as if we had 
been mermaids out of the sea, and begged us to 
give ourselves something warm to drink, and to 
change our boots the moment we got home. Then 
we went on to the post-office. Kate went in, but 
stopped, as she came out with our letters, to read 
a written notice securely fastened to the grocery 
door by four large carpet-tacks with wide leathers 
round their necka 


THE CIRCUS AT DEHBT. 


145 


“ Dear,” said she, exultantly, “ there ’s going to 
be a lecture to-night in the church, — a free lecture 
on the Elements of True Manhood. Would n’t 
you like to go 1 ” And we went. 

We were fifteen minutes later than the time 
appointed, and were sorry to find that the audi- 
ence was almost imperceptible. The dampness 
had affected the antiquated lamps so that those 
on the walls and on the front of the gallery were 
the dimmest lights 1 ever saw, and sent their fee- 
ble rays through a small space the edges of which 
were clearly defined. There were two rather more 
energetic lights on the table near the pulpit, 
where the lecturer sat, and as we were in the rear 
of the church, we could see the yellow fog between 
ourselves and him. There were fourteen persons 
in the audience, and we were all huddled together 
in a cowardly way in the pews neai'est the door : 
three old men, four women, and four children, 
besides ourselves and the sexton, a deaf little old 
man with a wooden leg. 

The children whispered noisily, and soon, to 
our surprise, the lecturer rose and began. He 
bowed, and treated us with beautiful deference, 
and read his dreary lecture with enthusiasm. I 
wish I could say, for his sake, that it was interest- 
7 


3 


146 


DEEPHA VEN. 


ing; but I cannot tell a lie, and it was so long! 
He went on and on, until it seemed as if I had been 
there ever since I was a little girl. Kate and I 
did not dare to look at each other, and in my des- 
peration at feeling her quiver with laughter, I 
moved to the other end of the pew, knocking over 
a big hymn-book on the way, which attracted so 
much attention that I have seldom felt more em- 
barrassed in my life. Kate’s great dog rose several 
times to shake himself and yawn loudly, and then 
lie down again despairingly. 

You would have thought the man w'as address- 
ing an enthusiastic Young Men’s Christian Asso- 
ciation. He exhoi'ted with fervor upon our duties 
as citizens and as voters, and told us a great deal 
about George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, 
whom he urged us to choose as our examples. He 
waited for applause after each of his outbursts of 
eloquence, and presently went on again, in no wise 
disconcerted at the silence, and as if he were sure 
that he would fetch us next time. The rain^ began 
to fall again heavily, and the wind wailed around 
the meeting-house. If the lecture had been upon 
any other subject it w^ould not have been so hard 
for Kate and me to keep sober faces ; but it was 
directed entirely toward young men, and there 
was not a young man there. 


THE CIRCUS AT DEN BY. 


147 


The children in front of us mildly scuffled with 
each other at one time, until the one at the end 
of the pew dropped a marble, which struck the 
floor and rolled with a frightful noise down the 
edge of the aisle where there was no carpet. The 
congregation instinctively started up to look after 
it, but we recollected ourselves and leaned back 
again in our places, while the awed children, after 
keeping unnaturally quiet, fell asleep, and tumbled 
against each other helplessly. After a time the 
man sat down and wiped his forehead, looking well 
satisfied ; aud when we were wondering whether we 
might with propriety come away, he rose again, 
and said it was a free lecture, aud he thanked us 
for our kind patronage on that inclement night ; 
but in other places which he had visited there 
had been a contribution taken up for the cause. 
It would, perhaps, do no harm, — vrould the sex- 
ton — 

But the sexton could not have heard the sound 
of a cannon at that distance, and slumbered on. 
Neither Kate nor I had any money, except a 
twenty-dollar bill in my pm*se, and some coppers 
in the pocket of her water-proof cloak which she 
assured me she was prepared to give ; but we 
saw no signs of the sexton’s waking, and as one 


148 


DEEPHA VEN. 


of the women kindly went forward to wake the 
children, we all rose and came away. 

After we had made as much fun and laughed 
as long as we pleased that night, we became 
suddenly conscious of the pitiful side of it all ; 
and being anxious that every one should have 
the highest opinion of Deephaven, we sent Tom 
Dockum early in the morning with an anonymous 
note to the lecturer, whom he found without much 
trouble ; but afterward we were disturbed at hear- 
ing that he w'as going to repeat his lecture that 
evening, — the wind having gone round to the 
northwest, — and I have no doubt there were a 
good many women able to be out, and that he 
harvested enough ten-cent pieces to pay his ex- 
penses without our help ; though he had particu- 
larly told us it was for “ the cause,” the evening 
before, and that ought to have been a consolation. 




CUNNER-FISHING. 

of the chief pleasures in Deephaven 
3 our housekeeping. Going to market 
3 apt to use up a whole morning, 
especially if we went to the fish-houses. AVe de- 
pended somewhat upon supplies from Boston, but 
sometimes we used to chase a butcher who took a 
drive in his old canvas-topped cart when he felt 
like it, and as for fish, there were always enough 
to be caugbt, even if we could not buy any. Our 
acquaintances would often ask if we had anything 
for dinner that day, and would kindly suggest that 
somebody had been boiling lobsters, or that a boat 
had just come in with some nice mackerel, or that 
somebody over on the Ridge was calculating to kill 
a lamb, and we had better speak for a quarter in 
good season. I am afraid we were looked upon as 
being in danger of becoming epicures, which we 
certainly are not, and we undoubtedly roused a 
great deal of interest Decause we used to eat mush- 



150 


VEEPUA VEN. 


rooms, which grew in the suburbs of the town in 
wild luxuriance. 

One morning Maggie told us that there was 
nothing in the house for dinner, and, taking an 
early start, we went at once down to the store to 
ask if the butcher had been seen, but finding that 
he had gone out deep-sea fishing for two days, and 
that when he came back he had planned to kill a 
veal, we left word for a sufficient piece of the 
doomed animal to be set apart for our family, and 
strolled down to the shore to see if we could find 
some mackerel ; but there was not a fisherman in 
sight, and after going to all the fish-houses we con- 
cluded that we had better provide for ourselves. 
We had not brought our own lines, but we knew 
where Danny kept his, and after finding a basket 
of suitable size, and taking some clams from Dan- 
ny’s bait-tub, we went over to the hull of an old 
schooner which was going to pieces alongside one 
of the ruined wharves. We looked down the hatch- 
w'ay into the hold, and could see the flounders and 
sculpin swimming about lazily, and once in a while 
a little pollock scooted down among them imper- 
tinently and then disappeared. “ There is that 
same big flounder that we saw day before yester- 
day,” said I. “ I know him because one of his fins 


CUNNER-FISHINO. 


151 


is half gone. I don’t believe he can get out, for 
the hole in the side of fhe schooner is n’t very 
■wide, and it is higher up than flounders ever swim. 
Perhaps he came in when he was young, and was 
too lazy to go out until he was so large he could n’t. 
Flounders always look so lazy, and as if they 
thought a great deal of themselves.” 

“ I hope they will think enough of themselves 
to keep away from my hook this morning,” said 
Kate, philosophically, “ and the sculpin too. I am 
going to fish for cunners alone, and keep my line 
short.” And she perched herself on the quarter, 
baited her hook carefully, and threw it over, with 
a clam-shell to call attention. I went to the rail 
at the side, and we were presently much encour- 
aged by pulling up two small cunners, and felt 
that our prospects for dinner were excellent. 
Then I unhappily caught so large a sculpin that 
it was like pulling up an open umbrella, and after 
I had thrown him into the Hold to keep company 
with the flounder, our usual good luck seemed to 
desert us. It was one of the days when, in spite 
of twitching the line and using all the tricks we 
could think of, the cunners would either eat our 
bait or keep away altogether. Kate at last said 
we must starve unless we could catch the big 


162 


DEEPHA VEN. 


flounder, and asked me to drop my hook down the 
hatchway ; but it seemed almost too bad to destroy 
his innocent happiness. Just then we heard the 
noise of oars, and to our delight saw Cap’n Sands 
in his dory just beyond the next wharf. “ Any 
luck 1 ” said he. “ S’pose ye don’t care anything 
about going out this morning 

“ We are not amusing ourselves ; we are trying 
to catch some fish for dinner,” said Kate. “ Could 
you wait out by the red buoy while we get a few 
more, and then should you be back by iioon, or ai*e 
you going for a longer voyage, Captain Sands 1 ” 

“ I was going out to Black Rock for cunners 
myself,” said the cap’n. “ I should be pleased to 
take ye, if ye ’d like to go.” So we wound up our 
lines, and took our basket and clams and went 
round to meet the boat. I felt like rowing, and 
took the oars while Kate was mending her sinker 
and the cap’n was busy with a snarled line. 

“ It ’s pretty hot,’i said he, presently, “ but I see 
a breeze coming in, and the clouds seem to be 
thickening ; I guess we shall have it cooler ’long 
towards noon. It looked last night as if we were 
going to have foul weather, but the scud seemed 
to blow off, and it w'as as pretty a morning as ever 
I see. ‘A growing moon chaws up the clouds,’ 


CUNNER-FISHINO. 


153 


my gran’ther used to say. He was as knowing 
about the weather as anybody I ever come across •, 
’most always hit it just about right. Some folks 
lay all the weather to the moon, accordin’ to where 
she quarters, and when she ’s in perigee w^e ’re 
going to have this kind of weather, and when she ’s 
in apogee she ’s got to do so and so for sartain ; 
but gran’ther he used to laugh at all tlieni things. 
He said it never made no kind of difference, and 
he went by the looks of the clouds and the feel of 
the air, and he thought folks could n’t make no 
kind of rules that held good, that had to do with 
the moon. Well, he did use to depend on the 
moon some ; everybody know^s we are n’t so likely 
to have foul weather in a growing moon as we be 
when she ’s waning. But some folks I could name, 
they can’t do nothing without having the moon’s 
opinion on it. When I went my second voyage 
afore the mast we was in port ten days at Cadiz, 
and the ship she needed salting dreadful. The 
mate kept telling the captain how low the salt was 
in her, and we was going a long voyage from there, 
but no, he would n’t have her salted nohow, be- 
cause it was the wane of the moon. He was an 
amazing set kind of man, the cap’n was, and would 
have his own way on sea or shore. The mate was 
5 * 


154 


DEEPHA VEN. 


his own brother, and they used to fight like a cat 
and dog ; they owned most of the ship between 
’em. I was slushing the mizzen-mast, and heard 
’em a disputin’ about the salt. The cap’n w'as a 
first-rate seaman and died rich, but he was dread- 
ful notional. I know one time we were a lyin’ out 
in the stream all ready to weigh anchor, and every- 
thing was in trim, the men were up in the rigging 
and a fresh breeze going out, just what we ’d been 
waiting for, and the word was passed to take in 
sail and make everything fast. The men swore, 
and everybody said the cap’n had had some kind 
of a warning. But that night it began to blow, 
and I tell you afore moi'ning w'e were glad enough 
W'e were in harbor. The old Victor she dragged her 
anchor, and the fore-to’-gallant sail and r’yal got 
loose somehow and was blown out of the bolt-ropes. 
Most of the canvas and rigging w^as old, but we 
had first-rate weather after that, and did n’t bend 
near all the new sail we had aboard, though the 
^ cap’n was most afraid we ’d come short when we 
left Boston. That was ’most sixty year ago,” said 
the captain, reflectively. “ How time does slip 
away! You young folks have n’t any idea. She 
was a first-rate ship, the old Victor was, though I 
suppose she would n’t cut much of a dash now 
’longside of some of the new clippers. 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


155 


“ There used to be some strange-looking crafts 
in those days ; there was the old brig Hannah. 
They used to say she would sail backwards as fast 
as forwards, and she was so square in the bows, 
they used to call her the sugar-box. She was 

master old, the Hannah was, and there was n’t a 

« 

port from here to New Orleans where she was n’t 
known ; she u.sed to carry a master cargo for her 
size, more than some ships that ranked two hun- 
dred and fifty ton, and she was put down for two 
hundred. She used to make good voyages, the 
Hannah did, and then there was the Pactolus ; 
she was just about such another, — you would 
have laughed to see her. She sailed out of this 
port for a good many years. Cap’n Wall he told 
me that if he had her before the wind with a cargo 
of cotton, she would make a middling good run, 
but load her deep with salt, and you might as well 
try to sail a stick of oak timber with a hand- 
kerchief. She was a stout-built ship : I should n’t 
wonder if her timbers were afloat somewhere yet ; 
she was sold to some parties out in San Francisco. 
There ! everything ’s changed from what it was 
when I used to follow the sea. I wonder some- 
times if the sailors have as queer works aboard 
ship as they used. Bless ye ! Deephaven used to 


156 


DEEPHA VEN. 


be a different place to what it is now ; there was 
hardly a day in the year that j^ou did n’t hear the 
shipwrights’ hammers, and there was always some- 
thing going on at the wharves. You would see 
the folks from up country cornin’ in with their 
loads of oak knees and plank, and logs o’ rock- 
maple for keels when there was snow on the 
ground in winter-time, and the big sticks of tim- 
ber-pine for masts would come crawling along the 
road with their three and four yoke of oxen all 
frosted up, the sleds creaking and the snow growl- 
ing and the men flapping their arms to keep warm, 
and hallooing as if there wan’t nothin’ else goiu’ 
on in the world except to get them masts to the 
ship-yard. Bless ye ! two o’ them teams together 
would stretch from here ’most up to the Widow 
Jim’s place, — no such timber-pines nowadays.” 

“ I suppose the sailors are very jolly together 
sometimes,” said Kate, meditativel}", with the least 
flicker of a smile at me. The captain did not 
answer for a minute, as he was battling with an 
obstinate snarl in his line; but when he had found 
the right loop he said, “ I ’ve had the best times 
and the hardest times of my life at sea, that’s cer- 
tain ! I was just thinking it over when you spoke. 
I ’ll tell you some stories one day or ’nother that ’ll 


CUNNER-FISHINO. 


157 


please you. Land ! you ’ve no idea what tricks 
some of those wild fellows will be up to. Now, 
saying they fetch home a cargo of wines and they 
want a drink ; they ’ve got a trick so they can 
get it. Saying it ’s champagne, they ’ll fetch up 
a basket, and how do you suppose they ’ll get 
into it 1 ” 

Of course we did n’t know. 

“ Well, every basket will be counted, and they’re 
fastened up particular, so they can tell in a min- 
ute if they ’ve been tampered with ; and neither 
must you draw the corks if you could get the 
basket open. I suppose ye may have seen cham- 
pagne, how it’s all wired and waxed. Now, they 
take a clean tub, them fellows do, and just shake 
the basket and jounce it up and down till they 
break the bottles and let the wine drain out ; then 
they take it down in the hold and put it back 
with the rest, and when the cargo is delivered 
there ’s only one or two whole bottles in that 
basket, and there ’s a dreadful fuss about its being 
stowed so foolish.” The captain told this with an 
air of great satisfaction, but we did not show the 
least suspicion that he might have assisted at 
some such festivity. 

“ Then they have a way of breaking into a casL 


158 


DEEPHA VEN. 


It won’t do to start the bung, and it won’t do to 
bore a hole where it can be seen, but they ’re up 
to that : they slip back one of the end hoops and 
bore two holes underneath it, one for the air to go 
in and one for the liquor to come out, and after 
they get all out they want they put in some 
spigots and cut them down close to the stave, 
knock back the hoop again, and there ye are, all 
trig.” 

“ I never should have thought of it,” said Kate, 
admiringly. 

“ There is n’t nothing,” Cap’n Sands went on, 
“ that ’ll hender some masters from cheating the 
owners a little. Get them oif in a foreign port, and 
there ’s nobody to watch, and they most of them 
have a feeling that they ain’t getting full pay, and 
they ’ll charge things to the ship that she never 
seen nor heard of. There were two shipmasters 
that sailed out of Salem. I heard one of ’em tell 
the stoiy. They had both come into port from 
Liverpool nigh the same time, and one of ’em, he 
was dressed up in a handsome suit of clothes, and 
the other looked kind of poverty-struck. ‘ Where 
did you get them clothes 1 ’ says he. ‘ Why, to 
Liverpool,’ says the other ; ‘ you don’t mean to say 
you come away without none, cheap as cloth was 


CUNNER-FISHIXG. 


159 


there?’ ‘Why, yes,’ says the other cap’n, — ‘I 
can’t afford to wear such clothes as those be, and 
I don’t see how you can, either.’ ‘ Charge ’em to 
the ship, bless ye ; the owners expect it.’ 

“ So the next v’y’ge the poor cap’n he had a nice 
rig for himself made to the best tailor’s in Bristol, 
and charged it, say ten pounds, in the ship’s ac- 
count ; and when he came home the ship’s husband 
he was looking over the papers, and ‘ What ’s this?’ 
says he, ‘ how come the ship to run up a tailor’s 
bill ? ’ ‘ Why, them ’s mine,’ says the cap’n, very 

meaching. ‘ I onderstood that there would n’t be 
no objection made.’ ‘ Well, you made a mistake,’ 
says the other, laughing; ‘guess I ’d better scratch 
this out.’ And it was n’t long before the cap’n met 
the one who had put him up to doing it, and he 
give him a blowing up for getting him into such a 
fix. ‘ Land sakes alive ! ’ says he, ‘ were you fool 
enough to set it down in the account ? Why, I 
put mine in, so many bolts of Russia duck.’ ” 

Captain Sands seemed to enjoy this reminiscence, 
and to our satisfaction, in a few minutes, after he 
had offered to take the oars, he went on to tell us 
another story. 

“ Why, as for cheating, there ’s .plenty of that 
all over the world. The first v’y’ge I went into 


160 


DEEPHA VEN. 


Havana as master of the Deerhound, she had never 
been in the port before and had to be measured 
and recorded, and then pay her tonnage duties 
every time she went into port there afterward, 
according to what she was registei'ed on the cus- 
tom-house books. The inspector he come ai)oard, 
and he went below and looked round, and he meas- 
ured her between decks ; but he never offered to 
set down any figgers, and when we came back 
into the cabin, says he, ‘Yes — yes — good ship ! 
you put one doubloon front of this eye, so ! ’ says 
he, ‘ an’ I not see with him ; and you put one more 
doubloon front of other eye, and how you think 
I see at all what figger you write V So I took his 
book and I set down her measurements and made 
her out twenty ton short, and he took his doub- 
loons and shoved ’em into his pocket. There, it 
is n’t what you call straight dealing, but every- 
body done it that dared, and you ’d eat up all the 
profits of a v’y’ge and the owners wmuld just as 
soon yo\; ’d try a little up-country air, if you paid 
all those dues according to law. Tonnage was 
dreadful high and wharfage too, in some ports, 
and they ’d get your last cent some way or ’nother 
if ye were n’t sharp. 

“Old Cap’ll Carew, uncle to them ye see to meet- 


CUNNER-FISHINO. 


161 


ing, did a smart thing in the time of the embargo. 
Folks got tired of it, and it was dreadful hard 
times ; ships rotting at the wharves, and Deep- 
haven never was quite the same afterward, though 
the old place held out for a good while before she 
let go as ye see her now. You’d ’a’ had a hard 
grip on ’t when I was a young man to make me 
believe it would ever be so dull here. Well, 
Cap’n Carew he bought an old brig that was lying 
over by East Parish, and he began fitting her 
up and loading her for the West Indies, and the 
farmers they ’d come in there by night from all 
round the country, to sell salt-fish and lumber 
and potatoes, and glad enough they were, I tell ye. 
The rigging was put in order, and it was n’t long 
before she was ready to sail, and it was all kept 
mighty quiet. She lay up to an old wharf in a 
cove where she would n’t be much noticed, and 
they took care not to paint her any or to attract 
any attention. 

“ One day Cap’n Carew was over in Riverport 
dining out with some gentlemen, and the revenue 
officer sat next to him, and by and by says he, 
‘ Why won’t ye take a ride with me this after- 
noon 1 I ’ve had warning that there ’s a brig load- 
ing for the West Indies over beyond Deephaven 

K 


162 


DEEP HA VEN. 


somewheres, and I’m going over to seize her.’ 
And he laughed to himself as if he expected fun, 
and something in his pocket beside. Well, the 
first minute that Cap’n Carew dared, after dinner, 
he slipped out, and he hired the swiftest horse 
in Riverport and rode for dear life, and told the 
folks who were in the secret, and some who were n’t, 
what was the matter, and every soul turned to 
and,helped finish loading her and getting the rig- 
ging ready and the water aboard ; but just as they 
were leaving the cove — the wind was blowing 
just right — along came the revenue officer with 
two or three men, and they come off in a boat and 
boarded her as important as could be. 

“ ‘ Won’t ye step into the cabin, gentlemen, and 
take a glass o’ wine 1 ’ says Cap’n Carew, very 
polite ; and the wind came in fresher, — something 
like a squall for a few minutes, — and the men 
had the sails spread before you could say Jack 
Robi’son, and before those fellows knew what they 
were about the old brig was a standing out to sea, 
and the folks on the wharves cheered and yelled. 
The Cap’n gave the officers a good scare and offered 
’em a free passage to the West Indies, and finally 
they said they would n’t report at headquarters if 
he ’d let ’em go ashore ; so he told the sailors to 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


163 


lower their boat about two miles off Deephaven, 
and they pulled ashore meek enough. Cap’n 
Carew had a first-rate run, and made a lot of 
money, so I have heard it said. Bless ye ! every 
shipmaster would have done just the same if he 
had dared, and evei-ybody was glad when they 
heard about it. Dreadful foolish piece of business 
that embargo was ! 

“Now I declare,” said Captain Sands, after he 
had finished this narrative, “ here I ’m a telling 
stories and you’re doin’ all the work. You ’ll pull 
a boat ahead of anybody, if you keep on. Tom 
Kew was a-praisin’ up both of you to me the 
other day : says he, ‘ They don’t put on no airs, but 
I tell ye they can pull a boat well, and swim like 
fish,’ says he. There now, if you ’ll give me the 
oars I’ll put the dory just where I want her, and 
yoti can be getting your lines ready. I know a 
place here where it ’s always toler’ble fishing, and 
I guess we ’ll get something.” 

Kate and I cracked our clams on the gunwale 
of the boat, and cut them into nice little bits for 
bait with a piece of the shell, and by the time the 
captain had thrown out the killick we were ready 
to begin, and found the fishing much more excit- 
ing than it had been at the wharf. 


164 


DEEPHA VEN. 


“1 don’t know as I ever see ’em bite faster,” 
said the old sailor, presently ; “ guess it ’s because 
they like the folks that’s fishing. Well, I’m 
pleased. I thought I ’d let ’Bijah take some along 
to Denby in the cart to-morrow if I got more than 
I could use at home. I did n’t calc’late on hav- 
ing such a lively crew aboard. I s’pose ye would 
n’t care about going out a little further by and 
by to see if we can’t get two or three haddock ? ” 
And we answered that we should like nothing 
better. 

It was growing cloudy, and was much cooler, — 
the perfection of a day for fishing, — and we sat 
there diligently pulling in cunners, and talking a 
little once in a while. The tide was nearly out, 
and Black Rock looked almost large enough to be 
called an island. The sea was smooth and the 
low waves broke lazily among the seaweed-cov- 
ered ledges, while our boat swayed about on the 
water, lifting and falling gently as the waves went 
in shore. We were not a very long way from the 
lighthouse, and once we could see Mrs. Kew’s big 
white apron as she stood in the doorway for a few 
minutes. There was no noise except the plash of 
the low-tide waves and the occasional flutter of a 
fish in the bottom of the dory. Kate and I always 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


165 


killed our fish at once by a rap on the head, for it 
certainly saved the poor creatures much discom- 
fort, and ourselves as well, and it made it easier 
to take them oflf the hook than if they were flop- 
ping about and making us aware of our cruelty. 

Suddenly the captain wound up his line and 
said he thought we ’d better be going in, and Kate 
and 1 looked at him with surprise. “ It is only half 
past ten,” said I, looking at my watch. “ Don’t 
hurry in on our account,” added Kate, persuasively, 
for we were having a very good time. 

“ I guess we won’t mind about the haddock. 
I ’ve got a feelin’ we ’d better go ashore.” And he 
looked up into the sky and turned to see the west. 
“ I knew there was something the matter; there ’s 
going to be a shower.” And we looked behind us 
to see a bank of heavy clouds coming over fast. 
“ I wish we had two pair of oars,” said Captain 
Sands. “ I ’m afraid we shall get caught.” 

“ You need n’t mind us,” said Kate. “ We are n’t 
in the least afraid of our clothes, and we don’t get 
cold when we ’re wet ; we have made sure of that.” 

“ Well, I 'm glad to hear that,” said the cap’n. 
“ Women-folks are apt to be dreadful scared of a 
wetting ; but I ’d just as lief not get wet myself. 
I had a twinge of rheumatism yesterday. I guess 


166 


DEEPHA VEN. 


we ’ll get ashore fast enough. No. I feel well 
enough to-day, but you can row if you want to, 
and I ’ll take the oars the last part of the way.” 

When we reached the moorings the clouds were 
black, and the thunder rattled and boomed over 
the sea, while heavy spatters of rain were already 
falling. We did not go to the wharves, but stopped 
down the shore at the fish-houses, the nearer place 
of shelter. “ You just select some of those cun- 
ners,” said the captain, who was beginning to be a 
little out of breath, “ and then you can run right 
up and get under cover, and I ’ll put a bit of old 
sail over the rest of the fish to keep the fresh 
water off.” By the time the boat touched the 
shore and we had pulled it up on the pebbles, the 
rain had begun in good earnest. Luckily there 
was a barrow lying near, and we loaded that in a 
hurry, and just then the captain caught sight of a 
well-known red shirt in an open door, and shouted, 
“ Halloa, Danny ! lend us a hand with these fish, 
for we ’re nigh on to being shipwrecked.” And 
then we ran up to the fish-house and w'aited 
awhile, though we stood in the doorway watching 
the lightning, and there were so many leaks in the 
roof that we might almost a^ well have been out 
of doors. It was one of Danny’s quietest days, 


CUNNER-FISHINQ. 


167 


and he silently beheaded hake, only winking at us 
once very gravely at something our other com- 
panion said. 

“ There 1 ” said Captain Sands, “ folks may say 
what they have a mind to ; I did n’t see that 
shower coming up, and I know as well as I want 
to that my wife did, and impressed it on my mind. 
Our house sets high, and she watches the sky and 
is al’ays a worrying when I go out fishing for fear 
something ’s going to happen to me, ’specially sence 
I ’ve got to be along in years.” 

This was just what Kate and I wished to hear, 
for we had been told that Captain Sands had most 
decided opinions on dreams and other mysteries, 
and could tell some stories which were considered 
incredible by even a Deephaven audience, to whom 
the marvellous was of every-day occurrence. 

“ Then it has happened before 1 ” asked Kate. 
“ I wondered why you started so suddenly to come 
in.” 

“ Happened ! ” said the captain. “ Bless ye, 
yes ! I ’ll tell you my views about these p’ints one 
o’ those days. I ’ve thought a good deal about 
’em by spells. Not that I can explain ’em, nor 
anybody else, but it ’s no use to laugh at ’em as 
some folks do. Cap’n Lant — you know Cap’n 


168 


DEEPHA VEN. 


Lant 1 — he and I have talked it over consider’ble, 
and he says to me, ‘ Everybody ’s got some story 
of the kind they will believe in spite of everything, 
and yet they won’t believe yourn.’ ” 

The shower seemed to be over now, and we felt 
compelled to go home, as the captain did not go on 
with his remarks. I hope he did not see Danny’s 
wink. Skipper Scudder, who was Danny’s friend 
and partner, came np just then and asked us if 
we knew what the sign was when the sun came 
out through the rain. I said that I had always 
heard it would rain again next day. “ 0 no,” said 
Skipper Scudder, “ the Devil is whipping his wife.” 

After dinner Kate and I went for a walk through 
some pine woods which were beautiful after the 
rain ; the mosses and lichens which had been dried 
up were all freshened and blooming out in the 
dampness. The smell of the wet pitch-pines was 
unusually sweet, and we wandered about for an 
hour or two there, to find some ferns we wanted, 
and then walked over toward East Parish, and 
home by the long beach late in the afternoon.- We 
came as far as the boat-landing, meaning to go 
home through the lane, but to our delight we saw 
Captain Sands sitting alone on an old overturned 
whale-boat, whittling busily at a piece of dried 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


169 


kelp. “ Good evenin’,” said our friend, cheerfully. 
And we explained that we had taken a long walk 
and thought we would rest awhile before we went 
home to supper. Kate perched herself on the boat, 
and I sat down on a ship’s knee which lay on the 
pebbles. 

“ Did n’t get any hurt from being out in the 
shower, I hope 1 ” 

“ No, indeed,” laughed Kate, “and we had such 
a good time. I hope you won’t mind taking us 
out again some time.” 

“ Bless ye ! no, ” said the captain. “ My girl 
Lo’isa, she that ’s Mis Winslow over to Riverport, 
used to go out with me a good deal, and it seemed 
natural to have you aboard. I missed Lo’isa after 
she got married, for she was al’ays ready to go 
anywhere ’long of father. She ’s had slim health 
of late years. I tell ’em she ’s been too much shut 
up out of the fresh air and sun. When she was 
young her mother never could pr’vail on her to set 
in the house stiddy and sew, and she used to have 
great misgivin’s that Lo’isa never was going to be 
capable. How about those fish you caught this 
morning? good, were they ? Mis Sands had dinner 
on the stocks when I got home, and she said she 
would n’t fry any ’til supper-time ; but I calc’lated 
8 


170 


DEEPHA VEN. 


to have ’em this noon. I like ’em best right out 
o’ the water. Little more and we should have got 
them wet. That ’s one of my whims ; I can’t bear 
to let fish get rained on.” 

“ 0 Captain Sands ! ” said I, there being a con- 
venient pause, “you were speaking of your wife 
just now ; did you ask her if she saw the shower 1 ” 

“ First thing she spoke of when I got into the 
house. ‘ There,’ says she, ‘ I was afraid you 
would n’t see the rain coming in time, and I had 
my heart in my mouth when it began to thunder. 
I thought you ’d get soaked through, and be laid 
up for a fortnight,’ says she. ‘ I guess a summer 
shower won’t hurt an old sailor like me,’ says I.” 
And the captain reached for another piece of his 
kelp-stalk, and whittled away more busily than 
ever. Kate took out her knife and also began to 
cut kelp, and I threw pebbles in the hope of hit- 
ting a spider which sat complacently on a stone 
not far away, and when he suddenly vanished 
there w’as nothing for me to do but to whittle 
kelp also. 

“ Do you suppose,” said Kate, “ that Mrs. Sands 
really made you know about that shower 1 ” 

The captain put on his most serious look, 
coughed slowly, and moved himself a few inches 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


171 


nearer us, along the boat. I think he fully under- 
stood the importance and solemuity of the subject. 
“ It ain’t for us to say what we do know or don’t, 
for there ’s nothing sartain, but I made up my 
mind long ago that there ’s something about these 
p’ints that ’s myster’ous. My wife and me will be 
sitting there to home and there won’t be no word 
between us for an hour, and then of a sudden 
we ’ll speak up about the same thing. Now the 
way I view it, she either puts it into my head or 
I into hers. I ’ve spoke up lots of times about 
something, wdien I did n’t know what I was going 
to say when I began, and she ’ll say she was just 
thinking of that. Like as not you have noticed it 
sometimes! There was something my mind was 
dwellin’ on yesterday, and she come right out with 
it, and I ’d a good deal rather she had n’t,” said 
the captain, ruefully. “ I did n’t want to rake it 
all over ag’in, I ’in sure.” And then he recollected 
himself, and was silent, which his audience must 
confess to have regretted for a moment. 

“ I used to think a good deal about such things 
when I was younger, and I ’m free to saj' I took 
more stock in dreams and such like than I do 
now. I rec’lect old Parson Lorimer — this Parson 
Lorimer’s father who was settled here first — 


172 


BEEPS A VEN. 


spoke to me once about it, and said it was a 
tempting of Providence, and that we had n’t no 
right to pry into secrets. I know I had a dream- 
book then that I picked up in a shop in Bristol 
once when I was in there on the Ranger, and all 
the young folks were beset to get sight of it. I 
see what fools it made of folks, bothering their 
heads about such things, and I pretty much let 
them go : all this stuff about spirit-rappings is 
eno\igh to make a man crazy. You don’t get no 
good by it. I come across a paper once with a lot 
of letters in it from sperits, and I cast my ej^e 
over ’em, and I says to myself, ‘ Well, I always 
was given to understand that when we come to a 
futur’ state we was goin’ to have more wisdom 
than we can get afore ’ ; but them letters had n’t 
any more sense to ’em, nor so much, as a man 
could write here without schooling, and I should 
think that if the letters be all straight, if the folks 
who wrote ’em had any kind of ambition .they ’d 
want to be movin’ back here again. But as for 
one person’s having something to do with another 
any distance off, why, that ’s another thing ; 
there ain’t any nonsense about that. I know it ’s 
true jest as well as I want to,” said the cap’n, 
warming up. “ I ’ll tell ye how I was led to make 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


173 


up my mind about it. One time I waked a man up 
out of a sound sleep looking at him, and it set 
me to thinking. First, there was n’t any noise, 
and then ag’in there was n’t any touch so he could 
feel it, and I says to myself, ‘ Why could n’t 1 ha’ 
done it the width of two rooms as well as one, and 
why could n’t I ha’ done it with my buck turned 1 ’ 
It could n’t have been the looking so much as the 
thinking. And then I car’d it further, and I says, 
‘ Why ain’t a mile as good as a yard ? and it ’s the 
thinking that does it,’ says I, ‘ and we ’ve got some 
faculty or other that we don’t know much about. 
We ’ve got some way of sending our thought like 
a bullet goes out of a gun and it hits. We don’t 
know nothing except what we see. And some 
folks is scared, and some more thinks it is all non- 
sense and laughs. But there ’s something we 
have n’t got the hang of.’ It makes me think o’ 
them little black polliwogs that turns into frogs 
in the fresh-water puddles in the ma’sh. There ’s 
a time before their tails drop off and their legs 
have sprouted out, when they don’t get any use o’ 
their legs, and I dare say they ’re in their way 
consider’ble ; but after they get to be frogs they 
find out what they ’re for without no kind of 
trouble. I guess we shall turn these fac’lties to 


174 


DEEP HA VEN. 


account some time or ’nother. Seems to me, 
though, that we might depend on ’em now more 
than we do.” 

The captain was under full sail on what we 
had heard was his pet subject, and it was a 
great satisfaction to listen to what he had to say. 
It loses a great deal in being written, for the old 
sailor’s voice and gestures and thorough earnest- 
ness all carried no little persuasion. And it was 
impossible not to be sure that he knew more than 
people usually do about these mysteries in which 
he delighted. 

“ Now, how can you account for this! ” said he. 
“ I remember not more than ten years ago my 
son’s wife was stopping at our house, and she had 
left her child at home while she come away for a 
rest. And after she had been there two or three 
days, one morning she was sitting in the kitchen 
’long o’ the folks, and all of a sudden she jumped 
out of her chair and ran into the bedroom, and 
next minute she come out laughing, and looking 
kind of scared. ‘ I could ha’ taken my oath,’ says 
she, ‘ that I heard Katy cryin’ out mother,’ says 
she, ‘just as if she was hurt. I heard it so plain 
that before I stopped to think it seemed as if she 
were right in the next room. I ’m afeard some- 


CUXNER-FrSHiyG. 


175 


thing has happened.’ But the folks laughed, and 
said she must ha’ heard one of the lambs. ‘No, it 
was n’t,’ says she, ‘ it was Katy.’ . And sure enough, 
just after dinner a young man who lived neighbor 
to her come riding into the yard post-haste to get 
her to go home, for the baby had pulled some hot 
water over on to herself and was nigh scalded 
to death and cryin’ for her mother every minute. 
Now, who ’s going to explain that ? It was n’t any 
common hearing that heard that child’s cryin’ 
fifteen miles. And I can tell you another thing 
that happened among my own folks. There was 
an own cousin of mine married to a man by the 
name of John Hathorn. He was trading up to 
Parsonsfield, and business run down, so he wound 
up there, and thought he ’d make a new start. 
He moved down to Denby, and while he was 
getting under way, he left his family up to the 
old place, and at the time I speak of, was going 
to move ’em down in about a fortnight. 

“One morning his wife was fidgeting round, and 
finally she came down stairs with her bonnet and 
shawl on, and said somebody must put the horse 
right into the wagon and take her down to Denby. 

‘ Why, what for, mother 1 ’ they says. ‘ Don’t 
stop to talk,’ says she; ‘your father is sick, and 


176 


DEEPHA VEN. 


wants me. It ’s been a worrying me since before 
day, and I can’t stand it no longer.’ -And the 
short of the story is that she kept hurrying ’em 
faster and faster, and then she got hold of the 
reins herself, and when they got within five miles 
of the place the horse fell dead, and she was nigh 
about crazy, and they took another horse at a 
farm-house on the road. It was the spring of the 
year, and the going was dreadful, and when they 
got to the house John Hathorn had just died, and 
he had been calling for his wife up to ’most the 
last breath he drew. He had been taken sick 
sudden the day before, but the folks knew it was 
bad travelling, and that she was a feeble woman to 
come near thirty miles, and they had no idee he 
was so bad off. I ’m telling you the living truth,” 
said Captain Sands, with an emphatic shake of his 
head. “There ’s more folks than me can tell 
about it, and if you were goin’ to keel-haul me 
next minute, and hang me to the yard-arm after- 
ward, 1 could n’t say it dififerent. I was up to 
Parsonsfield to the funeral ; it was just after I quit 
following the sea. I never saw a woman so broke 
down she was. John was a nice man ; stiddy 
and pleasant-spoken and straightforrard and kind 
to his folks. He belonged to the Odd Fellows, and 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


177 


they all marched to the funeral. Tjjere was a 
good deal of respect shown him, I tell ye. 

“ There is another story I ’d like to have ye 
hear, if it ’s so that you ain’t beat out hearing me 
talk. When I get going I slip along as easy as a 
schooner wing-and-wing afore the wind. 

“ This happened to my own father, but I never 
heard him say much about it; never could get 
him to talk it over to any length, best I could do. 
But gran’ther, his father, told me about it nigh 
upon fifty times, first and last, and always the 
same way. Gran’ther lived to be old, and there 
was ten or a dozen years after his wife died that 
he lived year and year about with Uncle Tobias’s 
folks and our folks. Uncle Tobias lived over on 
the Ridge. I got home from my first v’y’ge as 
mate of the Daylight just in time for his funeral. 
I was disapp’inted to find the old man was gone. 
I ’d fetched him some first-rate tobacco, for he was 
a great hand to smoke, and I was calc’latin’ on his 
being pleased : old folks like to be thought of, and 
then he set more by me than by the other boys. 
I know I used to be sorry for him when I was a 
little fellow. My father’s second wife she was a 
well-meaning woman, but an awful driver with her 
work, and she was always making of him feel he 

8‘ L 


178 


DEEP HA VEN. 


was n’t no use. I do’ know as she meant to, either. 
He never said nothing, and he was always just so 
pleasant, and he was fond of his book, and used 
to set round reading, and tried to keep himself out 
of the way just as much as he could. There was 
one winter when I was small that I had the scar- 
let-fever, and was very slim for a long time after- 
ward, and I used to keep along o’ gran’ther, and 
he would tell me stories. He ’d been a sailor, — 
it runs in our blood to foller the sea, — and he ’d 
been wrecked two or three times and been taken 
by the Algerine pirates. You remind me to tell 
you some time about that ; and I wonder if you 
ever heard about old Citizen Leigh, that used to 
be about here when 1 was a boy. He was taken 
by the Algerines once, same ’s gran’ther, and they 
was dreadful ferce just then, and they sent him 
home to get the ransom money for the crew ; but 
it was a monstrous price they asked, and the 
owners would n’t give it to him, and they s’posed 
likely the men was dead by that time, any way. 
Old Citizen Leigh he went crazy, and used to go 
about the streets with a bundle of papers in his 
bands year in and year out. I ’ve seen him a 
good many times. Gran’ther used to tell me how 
he escaped. I ’ll remember it for ye some day if 
you ’ll put me in mind. 


CUNNER-FISHINQ. 


179 


“ I got to be mate when I was twenty, and I 
was as strong a fellow as you could scare up, and 
darin’ ! — why, it makes my blood run cold when 
I think of the reckless things I used to do. I was 
off at sea after I was fifteen year old, and there 
wasn’t anybody so glad to see me as gran’ther 
when I came home. I expect he used to be lone- 
some after I went off, but then his mind failed 
him quite a while before he died. Father was 
clever to him, and he ’d get him anything he spoke 
about ; but he was n’t a man to set round and 
talk, and he never took notice himself when gran’- 
ther was out of tobacco, so sometimes it would be 
a day or two. I know better how he used to feel 
now that I ’m getting to be along in years myself, 
and likely to be some care to the folks before long. 
I never could bear to see old folks neglected ; nice 
old men and women who have worked hard in 
their day and been useful and willin’. I ’ve seen 
’em many a time when they could n’t help know- 
ing that the folks would a little rather they ’d be 
in heaven, and a good respectable headstone put 
up for ’em in the burying-ground. 

“ Well, now, I ’m sure I ’ve forgot what I was 
going to tell you. 0, yes ; about grandmother 
dreaming about father when he come home from 


180 


DEE PH A VEN. 


sea. Well, to go back to the first of it, gran’ther 
never was rugged ; he had ship-fever when he was 
a young man, and though he lived to be so old, 
he never could work hard and never got fore- 
handed ; and Aunt Hannah Starbird over at East 
Parish took my sister to fetch up, because she 
was named for her, and Melinda and Tobias stayed 
at home with the old folks, and my father went to ‘ 
live with an uncle over in Riverport, whom he was 
named for. He was in the West India trade and 
was well-off, and he had no children, so they 
expected he would do well by father. He was 
dreadful high-tempered. I ’ve heard say he had 
the worst temper that was ever raised in Deep- 
haven. 

“One day he set father to putting some cherries 
into abar’l of rum, and went off down to his wharf 
to see to the loading of a vessel, and afore he come 
back father found he ’d got hold of the wrong 
bar’l, and had sp’ilt a bar’l of the best Holland gin ; 
he tried to get the cherries out, but that was n’t 
any use, and he was dreadful afraid of Uncle 
Matthew, and he run away, and never was heard 
of from that time out. They supposed he ’d run 
away to sea, as he had a leaning that way, but 
nobody ever knew for certain ; and his mother 


GUNNER-FISHING. 


181 


she ’most mourned herself to death. Gran’ther 
told me that it got so at last that if they could 
only know for sure that he was dead it was all 
they would ask. But it went on four years, and 
gran’ther got used to it some j though grand- 
mother never would give up. And one morning 
early, before day, she waked him up, and says she, 

‘ We ’re going to hear from Matthew. Get up 
quick and go down to the store!’ ‘Nonsense,’ 
says he. ‘ I ’ve seen him,’ says grandmother, 

‘ and he ’s coming home. He looks older, but 
just the same other ways, and he’s got long hair, 
like a horse’s mane, all down over his shoulders.’ 

‘ Well, let the dead rest,’ says gran’ther ; ‘ you ’ve 
thought about the boy till your head is turned.’ 
‘ I tell you I saw Matthew himself,’ says she, ‘ and 
I want you to go right down to see if there is n’t 
a letter.’ And she kept at him till he saddled the 
horse, and he got down to the store before it was 
opened in the morning, and he had to wait round, 
and when the man came over to unlock it he was 
’most ashamed to tell what his errand was, for he 
had been so many times, and everybody supposed 
the boy was dead. W^hen he asked for a letter, 
the man said there was none there, and asked if 
he was expecting any particular one. He did n’t 


182 


DEEPHA VEN. 


get many letters, I s’pose ; all his folks lived about 
here, and people did n’t write any to speak of in 
those days. Gran’ther said he thought he would n’t 
make such a fool of himself again, but he did n’t 
say anything, and he waited round awhile, talking 
to one and another who came up, and by and by 
says the store-keeper, who was reading a news- 
paper that had just come, ‘ Here ’s some news for 
you, Sands, I do believe ! There are three vessels 
come into Boston harbor that have been out whal- 
ing and sealing in the South Seas for three or four 
years, and your son Matthew’s name is down on 
the list of the crew.’ ‘I tell ye,’ says gran’ther, ‘ I 
took that paper, and I got on my horse and put 
for home, and your grandmother she hailed me, 
and she said, “You ’ve heard, have n’t you!” before 
I told her a word.’ 

“ Gran’ther he got his breakfast and started 
right off for Boston, and got there early the second 
day, and went right down on the wharves. Some- 
body lent him a boat, and he went out to where 
there were two sealers laying off riding at anchor, 
and he asked a sailor if Matthew was aboard. ‘ Ay, 
ay,’ says the sailoi', ‘ he ’s down below.’ And he 
sung out for him, and when he come up out of the 
hold his hair was long, down over his shoulders 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


183 


like a horse’s mane, just as his mother saw it in 
the dream, Gran’ther he did n’t know what to 
say, — it scared him, — and he asked how it hap- 
pened ; and father told how they ’d been off sealing 
in the South Seas, and he and another man had 
lived alone on an island for months, and the whole 
crew had grown wild in their w'ays of living, being 
off so long, and for one thing had gone without 
caps and let their hair grow. The rest of the men 
had been ashore and got fixed up smart, but he 
had been busy, and had put it off till that morn- 
ing ; he was just going ashore then. Father was 
all struck up when he heard about the dream, and 
said his mind had been dwellin’ on his mother and 
going home, and he come down to let her see him 
just as he was and she said it was the same way 
he looked in the dream. He never would have his 
hair cut — father would n’t — and wore it in a 
queue. I remember seeing him with it when I 
was a boy; but his second wife did n’t like the looks 
of it, and she come up behind him one day and cut 
it off with the scissors. He was terrible worked 
up about it. I never see father so mad as he was 
that day. Now this is just as true as the Bible,” 
said Captain Sands. “ I have n’t put a word to it, 
and gran’ther al’ays told a story just as it was. 


184 


DEEPHA VEN. 


That woman saw her son ; but if you ask me what 
kind of eyesight it was, I can’t tell you, nor nobody 
else.” 

Later that evening Kate and I drifted into a 
long talk about the captain’s stories and these 
mysterious powers of which we know so little. It 
was somewhat chilly in the house, and we had 
kindled a fire in the fireplace, which at first made 
a blaze which lighted the old room royally, and 
then quieted down into red coals and lazy puffs of 
smoke. We had carried the lights away, and sat 
with our feet on the fender, and Kate’s great dog 
was lying between us on the rug. I remember 
that evening so well ; we could see the stars 
through the window plainer and plainer as the 
fire went down, and we could hear the noise of the 
sea. 

“ Do you remember in the old myth of Demeter 
and Persephone,” Kate asked me, “ where Deme- 
ter takes care of the child and gives it ambrosia 
and hides it in fire, because she loves it and wishes 
to make it immortal, and to give it eternal youth ; 
and then the mother finds it out and cries in terror 
to hinder her, and the goddess angrily throws the 
child down and rushes away 1 And he had to share 
the common destiny of mankind, though he always 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


185 


had some wonderful inscrutable grace and wisdom, 
because a goddess had loved him and held him in 
her arms. I always thought that part of the story 
beautiful where Demeter throws off her disguise 
and is no longer an old woman, and the great 
house is filled with brightness like lightning, and 
she rushes out through the halls with her yellow 
hair waving over her shoulders, and the people 
would give anything to bring her back again, and 
to undo their mistake. I knew it almost all by 
heart once,” said Kate, “ and I am always finding 
a new meaning in it. I was just thinking that it 
may be that we all have given to us more or less 
of another nature, as the child had whom Demeter 
wished to make like the gods. I believe old Cap- 
tain Sands is right, and we^ have these instincts 
which defy all our wisdom and for which we never 
can frame any laws. We may laugh at them, but 
we are always meeting them, and one cannot help 
knowing that it has been the same through all 
history. They are powers which are imperfectly 
developed in this life, but one cannot help the 
thought that the mystery of this world may be the 
commonplace of the next.” 

“ I wonder,” said I, “ why it is that one hears so 
much more of such things from simple country 


186 


DEEP HA YEN. 


people. They believe in dreams, and they have a 
kind of fetichism, and believe so heartily in super- 
natural causes. I suppose nothing could shake 
Mrs. Patton’s faith in warnings. There is no end 
of absurdity in it, and yet there is one side of 
such lives for which one cannot help having rever- 
ence ; they live so raiich nearer to nature than 
people who are in cities, and there is a soberness 
about country people oftentimes that one cannot 
help noticing. I wonder if they are unconsciously 
awed by the strength and purpose in the world 
about them, and the mysterious creative power 
which is at work with them on their familiar farms. 
In their simple life they take their instincts for 
truths, and perhaps they are not always so far 
wrong as we imagine. Because they are so in- 
stinctive and unreasoning they may have a more 
complete sympathy with Nature, and may hear 
her voices when wiser ears are deaf. They have 
much in common, after all, with the plants which 
grow up out of the ground and the wild creatures 
which depend upon their instincts wholly.” 

“ I think,” said Kate, “ that the more one lives 
out of doors the more personality there seems to 
be in what we call inanimate things. The strength 
of the hills and the voice of the waves are no longer 


CUNNER-FISHING. 


187 


only grand poetical sentences, but an expression of 
something real, and more and more one finds God 
himself in the world, and believes that we may 
read the thoughts that He writes for us in the 
book of Nature.” And after this we were silent 
for a while, and in the mean time it grew very late, 
and we watched the fire until there were only a 
few sparks left in the ashes. The stars faded away 
and the moon came up out of the sea, and we 
barred the great hall door and went up stairs to 
bed. The lighthouse lamp burned steadily, and it 
was the only light that had not been blown out in 
all Deephaven. 




MRS, BONNY. 

AM sure that Kate Lancaster and I must 
have spent by far the greater part of 
the summer out of doors. We often 
made long expeditions out into the suburbs of 
Deephaven, sometimes being gone all day, and 
sometimes taking a long afternoon stroll and com- 
ing home early in the evening hungry as hunt- 
ers and laden with treasure, whether we had been 
through the pine woods inland or alongshore, wheth- 
er we had met old friends or made some desirable 
new acquaintances. We had a fashion of calling 
at the farm-houses, and by the end of the season 
we knew as many people as if we had lived in 
Deephaven all our days. We used to ask for a 
drink of water ; this was our unfailing introduction, 
and afterward there were many interesting subjects 
which one could introduce, and we could always 
give the latest news at the shore. It was amus- 
ing to see the curiosity which we aroused. Many 




MRS. BONNY. 


189 


of the people came into Deephaven only on special 
occasions, and I must confess that at first we were 
often naughty enough to wait until we had been 
severely cross-questioned before we gave a definite 
account of ourselves. Kate was very clever at 
making unsatisfactory answers when she cared to 
do so. We did not understand, for some time, 
with what a keen sense of enjoyment many of 
those people made the acquaintance of an entirely 
new person who cordially gave the full particulars 
about herself 3 but we soon learned to call this by 
another name than impertinence. 

I think there were no points of interest in that 
region which we did not visit with conscientious 
faithfulness. There were cliffs and pebble-beaches, 
the long sands and the short sands ; there were 
Black Rock and Roaring Rock, High Point and 
East Point, and Spouting Rock ; we went to see 
where a ship had been driven ashore in the night, 
all hands being lost and not a piece of her left 
larger than an axe-handle ; we visited the spot 
where a ship had come ashore in the fog, and 
had been left high and dry on the edge of the 
marsh when the tide went out ; we saw whei'e 
the brig Methuselah had been wrecked, and the 
shore had been golden with her cargo of lemons 


190 


DEEPHA VEN. 


and oranges, which one might carry away by the 
wherryful. 

Inland there were not many noted localities, 
but we used to enjoy the woods, and our explora- 
tions among the farms, immensely. To the west- 
ward the land was better and the people well-to- 
do ; but we went oftenest toward the hills and 
among the poorer people. The land was uneven 
and full of ledges, and the people worked hard for 
their living, at most Laying aside only a few dol- 
lars each year. Some of the more enterprising 
young people went away to work in shops and fac- 
tories ; but the custom was by no means universal, 
and the people had a hungry, discouraged look. 
It is all very well to say that they knew nothing 
better, that it was the only life of which they 
knew anything ; there was too often a look of dis- 
appointment in their faces, and sooner or later we 
heard or guessed many stories ; that this young 
man had wished for an education, but there had 
been no money to spare for books or schooling ; 
and that one had meant to learn a trade, but 
there must be some one to help his father with 
the farm-work, and there was no money to hire a 
man to w’ork in his place if he went away. The 
older people had a hard look, as if they bad always 


MRS. BONNY. 


191 


to be on the alert and must fight for their place 
in the world. One could only forgive and pity 
their petty sharpness, which showed itself in tri- 
fling bargains, when one understood how much a 
single dollar seemed where dollars came so rarely. 
We used to pity the young girls so much. It was 
plain that those who knew how much easier and 
pleasanter our lives were could not help envy- 
ing us. 

There was a high hill half a dozen miles from 
Deephaven which was known in its region as “ the 
mountain.” It was the highest land anywhere 
near us, and having been told that there was a 
fine view from the top, one day we went there, 
with Tommy Dockum for escort. We ovei’took 
Mr. Lorimer, the minister, on his way to make . 
parochial calls upon some members of his par- 
ish who lived far from church, and to our delight 
he proposed to go with us instead. It was a great 
satisfaction to have him for a guide, for he knew 
both the country and the people more intimately 
than any one else. It was a long climb to the top 
of the hill, but not a hard one. The sky was clear, 
and there was a fresh wind, though we had left none 
at all at the sea-level. After lunch, Kate and I 
spread our shawls over a fine cushion of mountain- 


192 


DEEPEA VEN. 


cranberry, and had a long talk with Mr. Lorimer 
about ancient and modern Deephaven. He always 
seemed as much pleased with our enthusiasm for 
the town as if it had been a personal favor and 
compliment to himself. T remember how far we 
could see, that day, and how we looked toward 
the far-away blue mountains, and then out over 
the ocean. Deephaven looked insignificant from 
that height and distance, and indeed the country 
seemed to be mostly covered with the pointed tops 
of pines and spruces, and there were long tracts 
of maple and beech woods w'ith their coloi'ing of 
lighter, fresher green. 

“ Suppose we go down, now,” said Mr. Lorimer, 
long before Kate and I had meant to propose such 
a thing ; and our feeling was that of dismay. “ I 
should like to take you to make a call with me. 
Did you ever hear of old Mrs. Bonny 1 ” 

“ No,” said we, and cheerfully gathered our 
wraps and baskets ; and when Tommy finally 
came panting up the hill after we had begun to 
think that our shoutings and whistling were use- 
less, we sent him down to the horses, and, went 
down ourselves by another path. It led us a long 
distance through a grove of young beeches ; the 
last year’s whitish leaves lay thick on the ground. 


MRS. BONNY. 


193 


and the new leaves made so close a roof overhead 
that the light was strangely purple, as if it had 
come through a great church window of stained 
glass. After this we went through some hemlock 
growth, where, on the lower branches, the pale 
green of the new shoots and the dark green of the 
old made an exquisite contrast each to the other. 
Finally we came out at Mrs. Bonny’s. Mr. Lori- 
mer had told us something about her on the way 
down, saying in the first place that she was one 
of the queerest characters he knew. Her hus- 
band used to be a charcoal-burner and basket- 
maker, and she used to sell butter and berries and 
eggs, and choke-pears preserved in molasses. She 
always came down to Deephaven on a little black 
horse, with her goods in baskets and bags which 
were fastened to the saddle in a mysterious way. 
She had the reputation of not being a neat house- 
keeper, and none of the wise women of the town 
would touch her butter especially, so it was always 
a joke when she coaxed a new resident or a 
strange shipmaster into buying her wares ; but 
the old woman always managed to jog home with- 
out the freight she had brought. “ She must be 
very old, now,” said Mr. Lorimer ; “ I have not 
seen her in a long time. It cannot be possible 

9 M 


194 


BEEPHA VEN. 


that her horse is still alive ! ” And we all laughed 
when we saw Mrs. Bonny’s steed at a little dis- 
tance, for the shaggy old creature w'as covered with 
mud, pine-needles, and dead leaves, with half the 
last year’s burdock-burs in all Deephaven snarled 
into his mane and tail and sprinkled over his fur, 
which looked nearly as long as a buffalo’s. He 
had hurt his leg, and his kind mistress had tied 
it up with a piece of faded red calico and an end 
of ragged rope. He gave us a civil neigh, and 
looked at us curiously. Then an impertinent little 
yellow-and-white dog, with one ear standing up 
straight and the other drooping over, began to 
bark with all his might ; but he retreated when 
he saw Kate’s great dog, who was walking sol- 
emnly by her side and did not deign to notice 
him. Just now Mrs. Bonny appeared at the door 
of the house, shading her eyes with her hand, 
to see who was coming. “ Landy ! ” said she, “ if 
it ain’t old Parson Lorimer ! And who be these 
with ye 1 ” 

“ This is Miss Kate Lancaster of Boston, Miss 
Katharine Brandon’s niece, and her friend Miss 
Denis.” 

“Pleased to see ye,” said the old woman; “walk 
in and lay off your things.” And we followed her 


MRS. BONNY. 


195 


into the house. I wish you could have seen her : 
she wore a man’s coat, cut off so that it made an 
odd short jacket, and a pair of men’s boots much 
the worse for wear ; also, some short skirts, beside 
two or three aprons, the inner one being a dress- 
apron, as she took off the outer ones and threw 
them into a corner ; and on her head was a tight 
cap, with strings to tie under her chin. I thought 
it was a nightcap, and that she had forgotten to 
take it off, and dreaded her mortification if she 
should suddenly become conscious of it ; but I 
need not have troubled myself, for while we were 
with her she pulled it on and tied it tighter, as if 
she considered it ornamental. 

There were only two rooms in the house ; we 
went into the kitchen, which was occupied by a 
flock of hens and one turkey. The latter was evi- 
dently undergoing a course of medical treatment 
behind the stove, and was allowed to stay with us, 
while the hens were remorselessly hustled out with 
a hemlock broom. They all congregated on the 
doorstep, apparently wishing to hear everything 
that was said. 

“Ben up on the mountain 1” asked our hostess. 
“ Real sightly place. Goin’ to be a master lot o’ 
rosbries ; get any down to the shore sence I quit 
cornin’ 1 ” 


196 


DEEPHA VEN. 


“ 0 yes,” said Mr. Lorimer, “ but we miss see- 
ing you.” 

“ I s’pose so,” said Mrs. Bonny, smoothing her 
apron complacently ; “ but I ’m getting old, and I 
tell ’em I ’m goin’ to take my comfort ; sence ‘ he ’ 
died, I don’t put myself out no great ; I ’ve got 
money enough to keep me long ’s I live. Beckett’s 
folks goes down often, and I sends by them for 
what store stuff I want.” 

“ How are you now 1 ” asked the minister ; “ I 
think I heard you were ill in the spring.” 

“ Stirrin’, I ’m obliged to ye. I was n’t laid up 
long, and I was so ’s I could get about most of the 
time. I ’ve got the best bitters ye ever see, good 
for the spring of the year. S’pose yer sister. Miss 
Lorimer, would n’t like some! she used to be 
weakly lookin’.” But her brother refused the 
offer, saying that she had not been so well for 
many years. 

“ Do you often get out to chiirch nowadays, 
Mrs. Bonny ? I believe Mr. Reid preaches in the 
school-house sometimes, down by the great ledge ; 
does n’t he 1 ” 

“ Well, yes, he does ; b\it I don’t know as I get 
much of any good. Parson Reid, he ’s a worthy 
creatur’, but he never seems to have nothin’ to say 


MRS. BONNY. 


197 


about foreordination and them p’ints. Old Par- 
son Padelford was the man ! I used to set under 
his preachin’ a good deal ; I had an aunt living 
down to East Parish. He ’d get worked up, and 
he ’d shut up the Bible and preach the hair off 
your head, ’long at the end of the sermon. Could 
n’t understand more nor a quarter part what he 
said,” said Mrs. Bonny, admiringly. “Well, we 
were a-speaking about the meeting over to the 
ledge ; I don’t know ’s I like them people any to 
speak of. They had a great revival over there in 
the fall, and one Sunday I thought ’s how I ’d go ; 
and when I got there, who should be a-prayin’ but 
old Ben Patey, — he always lays out to get con- 
verted, — and he kep’ it up diligent till I could n’t 
stand it no longer ; and by and by says he, ‘ I ’ve 
been a wanderer’ ; and I up and says, ‘Yes, you 
have, I ’ll back ye up on that, Ben ; ye ’ve wan- 
dered around my wood-lot and spoilt half the likely 
young oaks and ashes I ’ve got, a-stealing your 
basket-stuff.’ And the folks laughed out loud, and 
up he got and cleared. He ’s an awful old thief, 
and he ’s no idea of being anything else. I wa’ n’t 
a-goin’ to set there and hear him makin’ b’lieve 
to the Lord. If anybody’s heart is in it, I ain’t 
a-goin’ to bender ’em ; I ’m a professor, and I ain’t 


198 


DEEPHA VEN. 


ashamed of it, week-days nor Sundays neither. I 
can’t bear to see folks so pious to meeting, and 
cheat yer eye-teeth out Monday morning. Well, 
there ! we ain’t none of us perfect ; even old Par- 
son Moody was round-shouldered, they say." 

“ You were speaking of the Becketts just now," 
said Mr. Lorimer (after we had stopped laughing, 
and Mrs. Bonny had settled her big steel-bowed 
spectacles, and sat looking at him with an expres- 
sion of extreme wisdom. One might have ventured 
to call her “peart,” I think). “How do they get 
on! I am seldom in this region nowadays, since 
Mr. Reid has taken it under his charge.” 

“ They get along, somehow or ’nother,” replied 
Mrs. Bonny ; “ they Ve got the best fann this side 
of the ledge, but they ’re dreadful lazy and shift- 
less, them young folks. Old Mis’ Hate-evil Beck- 
ett was tellin’ me the other day — she that was 
Samanthy Barnes, you know — that one of the 
boys got fighting, the other side of the mountain, 
and come home with his nose broke and a piece o’ 
one ear bit off. I forget which ear it was. Their 
mother is a real clever, willin’ woman, and she 
takes it to heart, but it ’s no use for her to say 
anything. Mis’ Hate-evil Beckett, says she, ‘ It 
does make my man feel dreadful to see his 


MRS. BONNY. 


199 


brother’s folks carry on so.’ ‘ But there,’ says I, 

‘ Mis’ Beckett, it ’s just such things as we read of; 
Scriptur’ is fulfilled : In the larter days there shall 
be disobedient children.’ ” 

This application of the text was too much for 
us, but Mrs. Bonny looked serious, and we did not 
like to laugh. Two or three of the exiled fowls 
had crept slyly in, dodging underneath our chairs, 
and had perched themselves behind the stove. 
They were long-legged, half-grown creatures, and 
just at this minute one rash young rooster made 
a manful attempt to crow. “ Do tell ! ” said his 
mistress, who rose in great wrath, “ you need n’t 
be so forth-putting, as I knows on ! ” After this 
we were urged to stay and have some supper. 
Mrs. Bonny assured us she could pick a likely 
young hen in no time, fry her with a bit of pork, 
and get us up “a good meat tea ” ; but we had to 
disappoint her, as we had some distance to walk 
to the house where we had left our horses, and a 
long drive home. 

Kate asked if she would be kind enough to lend 
us a tumbler (for ours was in the basket, which 
was given into Tommy’s charge). We were thirsty, 
and would like to go back to the spring and get 
some water. 


200 


DEEP HA VEN. 


“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Bonny, “I ’ve got a glass, 
if it ’s so ’s I can find it.” And she pulled a 
chair under the little cupboard over the fireplace, 
mounted it, and opened the door. Several things 
fell out at her, and after taking a careful survey 
she went in, head and shoulders, until I thought 
that she would disappear altogether ; hut soon 
she came back, and reaching in took oixt one 
treasure after another, putting them on the man- 
tel-piece or dropping them on the floor. There 
were some bunches of dried herbs, a tin honi, a 
lump of tallow in a broken plate, a newspaper, 
and an old boot, with a number of turkey-wings 
tied together, several bottles, and a steel trap, and 
finally, such a tumbler ! which she produced with 
triumph, before stepping down. She poured out 
of it on the table a mixture of old buttons and 
squash-seeds, beside a lump of beeswax which she 
said she had lost, and now pocketed with satisfac- 
tion. She wiped the tumbler on her apron and 
handed it to Kate, but we were not so thirsty as 
we had been, though we thanked her and went 
down to the spring, coming back as soon as pos- 
sible, for we could not lose a bit of the conversa- 
tion. 

There was a beautiful view from the doorstep, 


MRS. BONNY. 


201 


and we stopped a minute there. “ Real sightly, 
ain’t it 1 ” said Mrs. Bonny. “ But you ought to 
be here and look across the woods some morning 
just at sun-up. Why, the sky is all yaller and 
red, and them low lands topped with fog ! Yes, 
it ’s nice weather, good growin’ weather, this week. 
Corn and all the rest of the trade looks first-rate. 
I call it a forrard season. It ’s just such weather 
as we read of, ain’t it % ” 

“ I don’t remember where, just at this moment,” 
said Mr. Lorimer. 

“ Why, in the almanac, bless ye ! ” said she, 
with a tone of pity in her grum voice ; could it 
be possible he did n’t know, — the Deephaven 
minister! 

We asked her to come and see us. She said she 
had always thought she ’d get a chance some time 
to see Miss Katharine Brandon’s house. She 
should be pleased to call, and she didn’t know 
but she should be down to the shore before very 
long. She was ’shamed to look so shif’less that 
day, but she had some good clothes in a chist in 
the bedroom, and a boughten bonnet with a good 
cypress veil, which she had when “ he ” died. She 
calculated they would do, though they might be 
old-fashioned, some. She seemed greatly pleased 
9 * 


202 


DEEPHA VEN. 


at Mr. Lorimer’s having taken the trouble to come 
to see her. All those people had a great rever- 
ence for “ the minister.” We were urged to come 
again in “ rosbry ” time, which was near at hand, 
and she gave us messages for some of her old cus- 
tomers and acquaintances. “ I believe sotne of 
those old creator’s will never die,” said she; “why, 
they ’re getting to be ter’ble old, ain’t they, Mr. 
Lorimer 1 There ! ye ’ve done me a sight of good, 
and I wish I could ha’ found the Bible, to hear ye 
read a Psalm.” When Mr. Lorimer shook hands 
with her, at leaving, she made him a most rever- 
ential courtesy. He was the greatest man she 
knew ; and once during the call, when he was 
speaking of serious things in his simple, earnest 
way, she had so devout a look, and seemed so in- 
terested, that Kate and I, and Mr. Lorimer him- 
self, caught a new, fresh meaning in the familiar 
words he spoke. 

Living there in the lonely clearing, deep in the 
woods and far from any neighbor, she knew all 
the herbs and trees and the harmless wild creatures 
who lived among them, by heart ; and she had an 
amazing store of tradition and superstition, which 
made her so entertaining to us that we went to 
see her many times before we came away in the 


MRS. BONNY. 


203 




\ 

I 

autumn. We went with her to find some pitcher- 
plants, one day, and it was wonderful how much 
she knew about the woods, what keen observation 
she had. There was something so wild and un- 
conventional about Mrs. Bonny that it was like 
taking an afternoon walk with a good-natured 
Indian. We used to carry her offerings of tobacco, 
for she was a great smoker, and advised us to try 
it, if ever we should be troubled with nerves, or 
“narves,” as she pronounced the name of that 
affliction. 




IN SHADOW. 

after we went to Deephaven we took 
ig drive one day with Mr. Dockum, 
kindest and silentest of men. He 
of the Brandon property, and had 
some business at that time connected with a large 
tract of pasture-land perhaps ten miles from town. 
We had heard of the coast-road which led to it, 
how rocky and how rough and wild it was, and 
when Kate heard by chance that Mr. Dockum 
meant to go that way, she asked if we might go 
with him. He said he would much rather take us 
than “go sole alone,” but he should be away until 
late and we must take our dinner, which we did 
not mind doing at all. 

After we were three or four miles from Deep- 
haven the country looked very different. The 
shore was so rocky that there were almost no 
places where a boat could put in, so there were 
no fishermen in the region, and the farms were 



IN SHADOW. 


205 


scattered wide apart ; the land was so poor that 
even the trees looked hungry. At the end of our 
drive we left the horse at a lonely little farm-house 
close by the sea. Mr. Dockum was to walk a long 
way inland through the woods with a man whom 
he had come to meet, and he told us if we followed 
the shore westward a mile or two we should find 
some very high rocks, for which he knew we had a 
great liking. It was a delightful day to spend out 
of doors ; there was an occasional whiff of east- 
wind. Seeing us seemed to be a perfect godsend 
to the people whose nearest neighbors lived far out 
of sight. We had a long talk with them before we 
went for our walk. The house was close by the 
water by a narrow cove, around which the rocks 
were low, but farther down the shore the land rose 
more and more, and at last we stood at the edge 
of the highest rocks of all and looked far down 
at the sea, dashing its white spray high over the 
ledges that quiet day. What could it be in winter 
when there was a storm and the great waves came 
thundering in 1 

After we had explored the shore to our hearts’ 
content and were tired, we rested for a while in the 
shadow of some gnarled pitch-pines which stood 
close together, as near the sea as they dared. 


206 


DEEPHA VEK 


They looked like a band of outlaws ; they were 
such wild-looking trees. They seemed very old, 
and as if their savage fights with the winter winds 
had made them hard-hearted. And yet the little 
wild-flow'ers and the thin green grass-blades were 
growing fearlessly close around their feet ; and 
there were some comfortable birds’-nests in safe 
corners of their rough branches. 

When we went back to the house at the cove 
we had to wait some time for Mr. Dockum. We 
succeeded in making friends with the children, and 
gave them some candy and the rest of our lunch, 
which luckily had been even more abundant than 
usual. They looked thin and pitiful, but even in 
that lonely place, where they so seldom saw a 
stranger or even a neighbor, they showed that 
there was an evident effort to make them look 
like other children, and they were neatly dressed, 
though there could be no mistake about their being 
very poor. One forlorn little soul, with honest 
gray eyes and a sweet, shy smile, showed us a 
string of beads which she wore round her neck ; 
there were perhaps two dozen of them, blue and 
white, on a bit of twine, and they were the dearest 
things in all her world. When we came away we 
were so glad that we could give the man more 


IN SHADOW. 


207 


than he asked us for taking care of the horse, and 
his thanks touched us. 

“ I hope ye may never know what it is to earn 
every dollar as hard as I have. I never earned 
any money as easy as this before. I don’t feel as 
if I ought to take it. I ’ve done the best I could,” 
said the man, with the tears coming into his eyes, 
and a huskiness in his voice. “ I Ve done the best 
I could, and I’m willin’ and my woman is, but 
everything seems to have been ag’in’ us ; we never 
seem to get forehanded. It looks sometimes as if 
the Lord had forgot us, but my woman she never 
wants me to say that ; she says He ain’t, and that 
we might be worse off, — but I don’ know. I 
have n’t had my health ; that ’s hendered me most. 
I ’m a boat-builder by trade, but the business ’s all 
run down ; folks buys ’em second-hand nowadays, 
and you can’t make nothing. I can’t stand it to 
foller deep-sea fishing, and — well, you see what 
my land ’s wuth. But my oldest boy, he ’s getting 
ahead. He pushed off this spring, and he works 
in a box-shop to Boston ; a cousin o’ his mother’s 
got him the chance. He sent me ten dollars a 
spell ago and his mother a shawl. I don’t see 
how he done it, but he ’s smart ! ” 

This seemed to be the only bright spot in their 


208 


DEEPHA VEN. 


lives, and we admired the shawl and sat down in 
the house awhile with the mother, who seemed 
kind and patient and tired, and to have great 
delight in talking about what one should wear. 
Kate and I thought and spoke often of these peo- 
ple afterward, and when one day we met the man 
in Deephaven we sent some things to the children 
and his wife, and begged him to come to the house 
whenever he came to town ; but we never saw him 
again, and though we made many plans for going 
again to the cove, we never did. At one time the 
road was reported impassable, and we put off our 
second excursion for this reason and others until 
just before we left Deephaven, late in October. 

We knew the coast-road would be bad after the 
fall rains, and we found that Leauder, the eldest 
of the Dockum boys, had some errand that way, 
so he went with us. We enjoyed the drive that 
morning in spite of the rough road. The air was 
warm, and sweet with the smell of bayberry-bushes 
and pitch-pines and the delicious saltness of the 
sea, which was not far from us all the way. It 
was a perfect autumn day. Sometimes we crossed 
pebble beaches, and then went farther inland, 
through woods and up and down steep little hills ; 
over shaky bridges which crossed narrow salt creeks 


IN SHADOW. 


209 


in the marsh-lands. There was a little excitement 
about the drive, and an exhilaration in the air, 
and we laughed at jokes forgotten the next minute, 
and sang, and were jolly enough. Leander, who 
had never happened to see us in exactly this 
hilarious state of mind before, seemed surprised 
and interested, and became unusually talkative, 
telling us a great many edifying particulars about 
the people whose houses we passed, and who owned 
every wood-lot along the road. “ Do you see that 
house over on the pi’nt ? ” he asked. “ An old 
fellow lives there that ’s part lost his mind. He 
had a son who was drowned oflF Cod Rock fishing, 
much as twenty-five years ago, and he ’s worn a 
deep path out to the end of the pi’nt where he 
goes out every hand’s turn o’ the day to see if 
he can’t see the boat coming in.” And Leander 
looked round to see if we were not amused, and 
seemed puzzled because we did n’t laugh. Happily, 
his next story was funny. 

We saw a sleepy little owl on the dead branch 
of a pine-tree ; we saw a rabbit cross the road and 
disappear in a clump of juniper, and squirrels run 
up and down trees and along the stone- walls with 
acorns in their mouths. We passed straggling 
thickets of the upland sumach, leafless, and hold- 

N 


210 


DEEPHA VEN. 


ing high their ungainly spikes of red berries ; there 
were sturdy barberry-bushes along the lonely way- 
side, their unpicked fruit hanging in brilliant clus- 
ters. The blueberry-bushes made patches of dull 
red along the hillsides. The ferns were whitish- 
gray and brown at the edges of the woods, and the 
asters and golden-rods which had lately looked so 
gay in the open fields stood now in faded, frost- 
bitten companies. There were busy flocks of birds 
flitting from field to field, ready to start on their 
journey southward. 

When we reached the house, to our surprise 
there was no one in sight and the place looked 
deserted. We left the wagon, and while Leander 
went toward the bam, which stood at a little dis- 
tance, Kate and I went to the house and knocked. 
I opened the door a little way and said “ Hallo ! ” 
but nobody answered. The people could not have 
moved away, for there were some chairs standing 
outside the door, and as I looked in I saw the 
bunches of herbs hanging up, and a trace of corn, 
and the furniture was all there. It was a great 
disappointment, for we had counted upon seeing 
the children again. Leander said there was no- 
body at the barn, and that they must have gone 
to a funeral ; he could n’t think of anything else. 


IN SEA DO ^V. 


211 


Just now we saw some people coming up the 
road, and we thought at first that they were the 
man and his wife coming back ; but they proved to 
be strangers, and we eagerly asked what had be- 
come of the family. 

“They ’re dead, both on ’em. His wife she died 
about nine weeks ago last Sunday, and he died day 
before yesterday. Funeral ’s going to be this after- 
noon. Thought ye were some of her folks from 
up country, when we were coming along,” said the 
man. 

“ Guess they won’t come nigh,” said the woman, 
scornfully ; “ ’fraid they ’d have to help provide for 
the children. I was half-sister to him, and I ’ve 
got to take the two least ones.” 

“ Did you say he was going to be buried this 
afternoon 1 ” asked Kate, slowly. We were both 
more startled than I can tell. 

“Yes,” said the man, who seemed much better- 
natured than his wife. She appeared like a per- 
son whose only aim in life was to have things 
over with. “ Yes, we ’re going to bury at two 
o’clock. They had a master sight of trouble, first 
and last.” 

Leander had said nothing all this time. He had 
known the man, and had expected to spend the 


212 


BEEP HA VEN. 


day with him and to get him to go on two miles 
farther to help bargain for a dory. He asked, in a 
disappointed way, what had carried him off so 
sudden. 

“ Drink,” said the woman, relentlessly. “ He 
ain’t been good for nothing sence his wife died : 
she was took with a fever along in the first of 
August. I ’d ha’ got up from it ! ” 

“ Now don’t be hard on the dead, Marthy,” 
said her husband. “ I guess they done the best 
they could. They were n’t shif’less, you know ; 
they never had no health; ’t was against wind 
and tide with ’em all the time.” And Kate asked, 
“ Did you say he was your brother 1 ” 

“ Yes. I was half-sister to him,” said the wo- 
man, promptly, with perfect unconsciousness of 
Kate’s meaning. 

“And what will become of those poor children 1” 
“ I ’ve got the two youngest over to my place 
to take care on, and the two next them has been 
put out to some folks over to the cove. I dare 
say like ’s not they ’ll be sent back.” 

“ They ’re clever child’n, I guess,” said the man, 
who spoke as if this were the first time he had 
dared take their part. “ Don’t be ha’sh, Marthy ! 
Who knows but they may do for us when we get 


IN SHADOW. 


213 


to be old 1 ” And then she turned and looked at 
him with utter contempt. “I can’t stand it to 
hear men-folks talking on what they don’t know 
nothing about,” said she. “The ways of Provi- 
dence is dreadful myster’ous,” she went on with 
a whine, instead of the sharp tone of voice which 
we had heard before. “We ’ve had a hard row, 
and we ’ve just got our own children off our hands 
and able to do for themselves, and now here are 
these to be fetched up.” 

“ But perhaps they ’ll be a help to you ; they 
seem to be good little things,” said Kate. “ I saw 
them in the summer, and they seemed to be pleas- 
ant children, and it is dreadfully hard for them to 
be left alone. It ’s not their fault, you know. We 
brought over something for them; wiU you be 
kind enough to take the basket when you go 
home?” 

“ Thank ye, I ’m sure,” said the aunt, relenting 
slightly. “You can speak to my man about it, 
and he ’ll give it to somebody that ’s going by. 
I ’ve got to walk in the procession. They ’ll be 
obliged, I ’m sure. I s’pose you ’re the young 
ladies that come here right after the Fourth o’ 
July, ain’t you ? I should be pleased to have you 
call and see the child’n if you ’re over this way 


214 


DEEP HA VEN. 


again. I heard ’em talk about you last time I 
was over. Won’t ye step into the house and see 
him 1 He looks real natural,” she added. But we 
said, “ No, thank you.” 

Leander told us he believed he would n’t bother 
about the dory that day, and he should be there 
at the house whenever we were ready. He evi- 
dently considered it a piece of good luck that he 
had happened to arrive in time for the funeral. 
We spoke to the man about the things we had 
brought for the children, which seemed to delight 
him, poor soul, and we felt sure he would be kind 
to them. His wife shouted to him from a window 
of the house that he ’d better not loiter round, or 
they would n’t be half ready when the folks began 
to come, and we said good by to him and went 
away. 

It was a beautiful morning, and we walked slowly 
along the shore to the high rocks and the pitch- 
pine trees which we had seen before ; the air was 
delicio\;sly fresh, and one could take long deep 
breaths of it. The tide was coming in, and the 
spray dashed higher and higher. We climbed 
about the rocks and went down in some of the 
deep cold clefts into which the sun could seldom 
shine. We gathered some wild-flowers ; bits of 


IN SHADOW. 


215 


pimpernel and one or two sprigs of fringed gentian 
which had bloomed late in a sheltered place, and 
a pale little bouquet of asters. We sat for a long 
time looking oif to sea, and we could talk or think 
of almost nothing beside what we had seen and 
heard at the farm-house. We said how much we 
should like to go to that funeral, and we even 
made up our minds to go back in season, but we 
gave up the idea : we had no right there, and it 
would seem as if we were merely curious, and we 
were afraid our presence would make the people 
ill at ease, the minister especially. It would be 
an intrusion. 

We spoke of the children, and tried to think 
what could be done for them : we were afraid they 
would be told so many times that it was lucky 
they did not have to go to the poorhouse, and yet 
we could not help pitying the hard-worked, dis- 
couraged woman whom we had seen, in spite of 
her bitterness. Poor soul ! she looked like a per- 
son to whom nobody had ever been very kind, and 
for whom life had no pleasures : its sunshine had 
never been warm enough to thaw the ice at her 
heart. 

We remembered how we knocked at the door 
and called loudly, but there had been no answer. 


216 


BEEPS AVEN. 


and we wondered how we should have felt if we 
had gone farther into the room and had found 
the dead man in his coffin, all alone in the house. 
We thought of our first visit, and what he had 
said to us, and we wished we had come again 
sooner, for we might have helped them so much 
more if we had only known. 

“ What a pitiful ending it is,” said Kate. “ Do 
you realize that the family is broken up, and the 
children are to be half strangers to each other 1 
Did you not notice that they seemed very fond of 
each other when we saw them in the summer 1 
There was not half the roughness and apparent 
carelessness of one another which one so often 
sees in the country. Theirs was such a little 
world ; one can understand how, when the man’s 
wife died, he was bewildered and discouraged, 
utterly at a loss. The thoughts of winter, and of 
the little children, and of the struggles he had 
already come through against poverty and disap- 
pointment were terrible thoughts ; and like a boat 
adrift at sea, the waves of his misery brought 
him in against the rocks, and his simple life was 
wrecked.” 

“I suppose his grandest hopes and wishes would 
have been realized in a good farm and a thousand 


IN SHADOW. 


217 


or two dollars in safe keeping,” said 1. “ Do you re- 
member that merry little song in ‘As You Like It’1 

‘ Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i’ the sun, 

Seeking the food he eats, 

And pleased with w'hat he gets ’ ; 

and 

‘Here shall he see 
No enemy 

But winter and rough weather.’ 

That is all he lived for, his literal daily bread. I 
suppose what would be prosperity to him would 
be miserably insufficient for some other people. 
I wonder how we can help being conscious, in the 
midst of our comforts and pleasures, of the lives 
which are being starved to death in more ways 
than one.” 

“ I suppose one thinks more about these things 
as one grows older,” said Kate, thoughtfully. 
“ How seldom life in this w'orld seems to be a suc- 
cess ! Among rich or poor only here and there 
one touches satisfaction, though the one who 
seems to have made an utter failure may really be 
the greatest conqueror. And, Helen, I find that I 
understand better and better how unsatisfactory, 
how purposeless and disastrous, any life must be 
which is not a Christian life! It is like being 
10 


218 


DEEP HA VEN. 


always in the dark, and wandering one knows not 
where, if one is not learning more and more what 
it is to have a friendship with God.” 

By the middle of the afternoon the sky had 
grown cloudy, and a wind seemed to be coming 
in oif the sea, and we unwillingly decided that 
we must go home. We supposed that the fu- 
neral would be all over with, but found we had 
been mistaken when we reached the cove. We 
seated ourselves on a rock near the water; just 
beside us was the old boat, with its killick and 
painter stretched ashore, where its owner had 
left it. 

There were several men standing around the 
door of the house, looking solemn and important, 
and by and by one of them came over to us, and 
we found out a little more of the sad story. We 
liked this man, there was so much pity in his face 
and voice. “ He was a real willin’, honest man, 
Andrew was,” said our new friend, “ but he used 
to be sickly, and seemed to have no luck, though 
for a year or two he got along some better. When 
his wife died he was sore afflicted, and could n’t 
get over it, and he did n’t know what to do or 
what was going to become of ’em with winter 
cornin’ on, and — well — I may ’s well tell ye ; 


IN SHADOW. 


219 


he took to drink and it killed him right off. I 
come over two or three times and made some 
gruel and fixed him up ’s well ’s I could, and the 
little gals done the best they could, but he faded 
right out, and did n’t know anything the last time 
I see him, and he died Sunday mornin’, when 
the tide begun to ebb. I always set a good deal 
by Andrew ; we used to play together down to the 
great cove ; that ’s where he was raised, and my 
folks lived there too. I’ve got one o’ the little 
gals. I always knowed him and his wife.” 

Just now we heard the people in the house sing- 
ing “China,” the Deephaven funeral hymn, and 
the tune suited well that day, with its wailing 
rise and fall; it was strangely plaintive. Then 
the funeral exercises were over, and the man 
with whom we had just been speaking led to the 
door a horse and rickety wagon, from which the 
seat had been taken, and when the coffin had 
been put in he led the horse down the road a lit- 
tle way, and we watched the mourners come out 
of the house two by two. We heard some one 
scold in a whisper because the wagon was twice as 
far oflF as it need have been. They evidently had a 
rigid funeral etiquette, and felt it important that 
everything should be carried out according to rule. 


220 


DEEPHA VEN. 


We saw a forlorn-looking kitten, with a bit of 
faded braid round its neck, run across the road in 
terror and presently appear again on the stone- 
wall, where she sat looking at the people. We saw 
the dead man’s eldest son, of whom he had told us 
in the summer with such pride. He had shown 
his respect for his father as best he could, by a 
black band on his hat and a pair of black cotton, 
gloves a world too large for him. He looked so 
sad, and cried bitterly as he stood alone at the 
head of the people. His aunt was next, with a 
handkerchief at her eyes, fully equal to the pro- 
prieties of the occasion, though I fear her grief 
was not so heai-tfelt as her husband’s, who dried 
his eyes on his coat-sleeve again and again. 
There were perhaps twenty of the mourners, and 
there was much whispering among those who 
walked last. The minister and some others fell 
into line, and the procession went slowly down the 
slope ; a strange shadow had fallen over every- 
thing. It was like a November day, for the air felt 
cold and bleak. There were some great sea-fowl 
high in the air, fighting their way toward the sea 
against the wind, and giving now and then a wild, 
far-off ringing cry. We could hear the dull sound 
of the sea, and at a little distance from the land 


IN SHADOW. 


221 


the waves were leaping high, and breaking in white 
foam over the isolated ledges. 

The rest of the people began to walk or drive 
away, but Kate and I stood watching the funeral 
as it crept along the narrow, crooked road. We 
had never seen what the people called “ walking 
funerals ” until we came to Deephaven, and there 
was something piteous about this ; the mourners 
looked so few, and we could hear the rattle of the 
wagon-wheels. “ He ’s gone, ain’t he 1” said some 
one near us. That was it, — gone. 

Before the people had entered the house, there 
had been, I am sure, an indifferent, business-like 
look, but when they came out, all that was 
changed ; their faces were awed by the presence of 
death, and the indifference had given place to 
uncertainty. Their neighbor was immeasurably 
their superior now. Living, he had been a failure 
by their own low standards ; but now, if he could 
come back, he would know secrets, and be wise 
beyond anything they could imagine, and who 
could know the riches of which he might have 
come into possession 1 

To Kate and me there came a sudden conscious- 
ness of the mystery and inevitableucss of death ; 
it was not fear, thank God ! but a thought of 


222 


DEEPHA VEN. 


how certain it was that some day it would be a 
mystery to us no longer. And there was a thought, 
too, of the limitation of this present life ; we were 
waiting there, in company with the people, the 
great sea, and the rocks and fields themselves, 
on this side the boundary. We knew just then 
how close to this familiar, every-day world might 
be the other, which at times before had seemed 
so far away, out of reach of even our thoughts, 
beyond the distant stars. 

We stayed awhile longer, until the little black 
funeral had crawled out of sight ; until we had 
seen the last funeral guest go away and the door 
had been shut and fastened with a queer old pad- 
lock aud some links of rusty chain. The door 
fitted loosely, and the man gave it a vindictive 
shake, as if he thought that the poor house had 
somehow been to blame, and that after a long des- 
perate struggle for life under its roof and among 
the stony fields the family must go away defeated. 
It is not likely that any one else will ever go to 
live there. The man to whom the farm was mort- 
gaged will add the few forlorn acres to his pasture- 
land, and the thistles which the man who is dead 
had fought so many years will march in next sum- 
mer and take unmolested possession. 


nv SHADOW. 


223 


I think to-day of that fireless, empty, forsaken 
house, where the winter sun shines in and creeps 
slowly along the floor ; the bitter cold is in and 
around the house, and the snow has sifted in at 
every crack ; outside it is untrodden by any living 
creature’s footstep. The wind blows and rushes 
and shakes the loose window-sashes in their frames, 
while the padlock knocks — knocks against the 
door. 



1 



MISS CHAUNCEY. 

Deephaven people used to say some- 
les complacently, that certain things 
certain people were “ as dull as East 
ate and I grew curious to see that 
part of the world which was considered duller 
than Deephaven itself; and as upon inquiry we 
found that it was not out of reach, one day we 
went there. 

It was like Deephaven, only on a smaller scale. 
The village — though it is a question whether that 
is not an exaggerated term to apply — had evidently 
seen better days. It was on the bank of a river, 
and perhaps half a mile from the sea. There were 
a few old buildings there, some with mossy roofs 
and a great deal of yellow lichen on the sides of 
the walls next the sea ; a few newer houses, be- 
longing to fishermen ; some dilapidated fish-houses ; 
and a row of fish-flakes. Every house seemed to 
have a lane of its own, and all faced different ways 



MISS CHAUNCEY. 


225 


except two fish-houses, which stood amiably side 
by side. There was a church, which we had been 
told was the oldest in the region. Through the 
windows we saw the high pulpit and sounding- 
board, and finally found the keys at a house near 
by ; so we went in and looked around at our 
leisure. A rusty foot-stove stood in one of the 
old square pews, and in the gallery there was a 
majestic bass-viol with all its strings snapped but 
the largest, which gave out a doleful sound when 
we touched it. 

After we left the church we walked along the 
road a little way, and came in sight of a fine old 
house which had apparently fallen into ruin years 
before. The front entrance was a fine specimen 
of old-fashioned workmanship, with its columns 
and carvings, and the fence had been a grand 
affair in its day, though now it could scarcely 
stand alone. The long range of out-buildings were 
falling piece by piece ; one shed had been blown 
down entirely by a late high wind. The large 
wundows had many panes of glass, and the great 
chimneys were built of the bright red bricks which 
used to be brought from over-seas in the days of 
the colonies. We noticed the gnarled lilacs in the 
yard, the wrinkled cinnamon-roses, and a flourish- 
10* o 


226 


DEEP U A VEN. 


ing company of French pinks, or “ bouncing Bets,” 
as Kate called them. 

“ Suppose we go in,” said I ; “ the door is open 
a little way. There surely must be some stories 
about its being haunted. We will ask Miss Ho- 
nora.” And we climbed over the boards which 
were put up like pasture-bars across the wide 
front gateway. 

“ We shall certainly meet a ghost,” said Kate. 

Just as we stood on the steps the door was 
pulled wide open ; we started back, and, well- 
grown young women as we are, we have confessed 
since that our first impulse was to run away. On 
the threshold there stood a stately old woman who 
looked surprised at first sight of us, then quickly 
recovered herself and stood waiting for us to speak. 
She was dressed in a rusty black satin gown, with 
scant, short skirt and huge sleeves ; on her head 
was a great black bonnet with a high crown and 
a close brim, which came far out over her face. 
“What is your pleasure?” said she; and we felt 
like two awkward children. Kate partially recov- 
ered her wits, and asked which was the nearer 
way to Deephaven. 

“ There is but one road, past the church and 
over the hill. It cannot be missed.” And she 


MISS CHAUNCEY. 


227 


bowed gravely, when we thanked her and begged 
her pardon, we hardly linew why, and came away. 

We looked back to see her still standing in the 
doorway, “ Who in the world can she be 1” said 
Kate. And w’e wondered and puzzled and talked 
over “the ghost” until we saw Miss Honora 
Carew, who told us that it was Miss Sally Chaun- 
cey. 

“ Indeed, I know her, poor old soul ! ” said Miss 
Honora; “she has such a sad history. She is 
the last survivor of one of the most aristocratic 
old colonial families. The Chaunceys were of 
great renown until early in the present century, 
and then their fortunes changed. They had al- 
ways been rich and well-educated, and I suppose 
nobody ever had a gayer, happier time than Miss 
Sally did in her girlhood, for they entertained a 
great deal of company and lived in fine style ; but 
her father was unfortunate in business, and at last 
was utterly ruined at the time of the embargo; 
then he became partially insane, and died after 
many years of poverty. I have often heard a 
tradition that a sailor to whom he had broken a 
promise had cursed him, and that none of the 
family had died in their beds or had any good 
luck since. The East Parish people seem to be- 


228 


DEEPHA VEN. 


lieve in it, and it is certainly strange what terrible 
sorrow has come to the Chaunceys. One of Miss 
Sally’s brothers, a fine yonng officer in the navy, 
who was at home on leave, asked her one day if 
she could get on without him, and she said yes, 
thinking he meant to go back to sea ; but in a few 
minutes she heard the noise of a pistol in his 
room, and hurried in to find him lying dead on 
the floor. Then there was another brother who 
was insane, and who became so violent that he 
was chained for years in one of the upper cham- 
bers, a dangerous prisoner I have heard his hor- 
rid cries myself, when I was a young girl,” said 
Miss Honora, with a shiver. 

“ Miss Sally is insane, and has been for many 
years, and this seems to me the saddest part of 
the story. When she first lost her reason she was 
sent to a hospital, for there was no one who could 
take care of her. The mania was so acute that 
no one had the slightest thought that she would 
recover or even live long. Her guardian sold the 
furniture and pictures and china, almost eveiy- 
thing but clothing, to pay the bills at the hospital, 
until the house was fairly empty ; and then one 
spring day, I remember it well, she came home in 
her right mind, and, without a thought of what 


JUISS CHAUyCEr. 


229 


was awaiting her, ran eagerly into her home. It 
was a terrible shock, and she never has recovered 
from it, though after a long illness her insanity 
took a mild form, and she has always been perfectly 
harmless. She has been alone many years, and 
no one can persuade her to leave the old house, 
where she seems to be contented, and does not 
realize her troubles ; though she lives mostly in 
the past, and has little idea of the present, except 
in her house affairs, which seem pitiful to me, for 
I remember the housekeeping of the Chaunceys 
when I was a child. I have always been to see 
her, and she usually knows me, though I have been 
but seldom of late years. She is several years 
older than I. The town makes her an allowance 
every year, and she has some friends who take 
care that she does not suffer, though her wants 
are few. She is an elegant woman still, and some 
if you like, I will give you something to carry 
to her, and a message, if I can think of one, and 
you must go to make her a call. I hope she will 
happen to be talkative, for I am sure you would 
enjoy her. For many years she did not like to see 
strangers, but some one has told me lately that she 
seems to be pleased if people go to see her.’’" 

You may be sure it was not many days before 


230 


BEEP R A YEN. 


Kate and I claimed the basket and the message, 
and went again to East Parish. We boldly lifted 
the great brass knocker, and were dismayed be- 
cause nobody answered. While we waited, a girl 
came up the walk and said that Miss Sally lived 
up stairs, and she would speak to her if we liked. 

“ Sometimes she don’t have sense enough to know 
what the knocker means,” we were told. There 
was evidently no romance about Miss Sally to our 
new acquaintance. 

“ Do you think,” said I, “ that ^ve might go in 
and look around the lower rooms? Perhaps she 
will refuse to see us.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said the girl j “only run the 
minute I speak ; you ’ll have time enough, for she 
w'alks slow and is a little deaf.” 

So we went into the great hall with its wdde 
staircase and handsome cornices and panelling, and 
then into the large parlor on the right, and through 
it to a smaller room looking oiit on the garden, 
which sloped down to the river. Both rooms had 
fine carved mantels, with Dutch-tiled fireplaces,, 
and in the cornices we saw the fastenings where 
pictures had hung, — old porti’aits, perhaps. And 
what had become of them? The girl did not 
know : the house had been the same ever since 


MISS CHAUXCEV. 


231 


she could remember, only it would all fall through 
into the cellar soon. But the old lady was proud 
as Lucifer, and would n’t hear of moving out. 

The floor in the room toward the river was so 
broken that it was not safe, and we came back 
through the hall and opened the door at the foot 
of the stairs. “ Guess you w'on’t want to stop long 
there,” said the girl. Three old hens and a rooster 
marched toward us with great solemnity when we 
looked in. The cobwebs hung in the room, as they 
often do in old barns, in long, gray festoons ; the 
lilacs outside gi’ew close against the two windows 
.where the shutters were not drawn, and the light 
in the room was greenish and dim. 

Then we took our places on the threshold, and 
the girl went up stairs and announced us to Miss 
Sally, and in a few minutes we heard her come 
along the hall. 

“ Sophia,” said she, “ where are the gentry wait- 
ing] ” And just then she came in sight round the 
turn of the staircase. She wore the same great 
black bonnet and satin gown, and looked more old- 
fashioned and ghostly than before. She was not 
tall, but very erect, in spite of her gi'eat age, and 
her eyes seemed to “look through you” in an un- 
canny way. She slowly descended the stairs and 


232 


DEEPHA VEN. 


came toward us with a courteous greeting, and 
when we had introduced ourselves as Miss Carew’s 
friends she gave us each her hand in a most cordial 
way and said she was pleased to see us. She bowed 
us into the parlor and brought us two rickety, 
straight-backed chairs, which, with an old table, 
were all the furniture there was in the room. “ Sit 
3-^0 down,” said she, herself taking a place in the 
window-seat. I have seen few more elegant women 
than Miss Chauncey. Thoroughly at her ease, she 
had the manner of a lady of the olden times, using 
the quaint fashion of speech which she had been 
taught in her gii’lhood. The long words and cere- 
monious phrases suited her extremely well. Her 
hands were delicately shaped, and she folded them 
in her lap, as no doubt she had learned to do at 
boarding-school so many years before. She asked 
Kate and me if we knew any 3''Oung ladies at that 
school in Boston, saying that most of her intimate 
friends had left when she did, but some of the 
younger ones were there still. 

She asked for the Carews and Mr. Lorimer, and 
when Kate told her that she was Miss Brandon’s 
niece, and asked if she had not known her, she said, 
“ Certainl}’-, my dear ; we were intimate friends at 
one time, but I have seen her little of late.” 


MISS CHAUNCEY. 


233 


“ Do you not know that she is dead 1 ” asked 
Kate. 

“ Ah, they say every one is ‘ dead,’ nowadays. 
I do not comprehend the silly idea ! ” said the old 
lady, impatiently. “ It is an excuse, I suppose. 
She could come to see me if she chose, but she was 
always a ceremonious bod}'^, and I go abroad but 
seldom now ; so perhaps she waits my visit. I 
will not speak uncourteously, and you must re- 
member me to her kindly.” 

Then she asked us about other old people in 
Deephaven, and about families in Boston whom 
she had known in her early days. I think every 
one of whom she spoke was dead, but we assured 
her that they were all well and prosperous, and 
w'e hoped we told the truth. She asked about the 
love-affairs of men and women who had died old 
and gray-headed within our remembrance; and 
finally she said we must pardon her for these tire- 
some questions, but it was so rarely she saw any 
one direct from Boston, of whom she could inquire 
concerning these old friends and relatives of her 
family. 

Something happened after this which touched us 
both inexpressibly : she sat for some time watch- 
ing Kate with a bewildered look, which at last 


234 


DEEPUA VEX. 


faded away, a smile coming in its place. “I'tliink 
you are like my mother,” she said ; “ did any one 
ever say to you that you are like my mother 1 
Will you let me see your forehead 1 Yes ; and 
your hair is only a little darker.” Kate had risen 
when Miss Chauncey did, and they stood side hy 
side. There was a tone in the old lady’s voice 
which brought the tears to my eyes. She stood 
there some minutes looking at Kate. I wonder 
what her thoughts were. There was a kinship, it 
seemed to me, not of blood, only that they both 
were of the same stamp and rank : Miss Chauncey 
of the old generation and Kate Lancaster of the 
new. Miss Chauncey turned to me, saying, “ Look 
up at the portrait and you will see the likeness too, 
I think.” But when she turned and saw the bare 
wainscoting of the room, she looked puzzled, and 
the bright flash which had lighted up her face was 
gone in an instant, and she sat down again in the 
window-seat ; but we were glad that she had for- 
gotten. Presently she said, “ Pardon me, but 1 
forget your question.” 

Miss Carew had told us to ask her about her 
school-days, as she nearly always spoke of that 
time to her ; and, to our delight. Miss Sally told 
us a long story about her friends and about her 


MISS CHAUNCEY. 


235 


“ coming-out party,” when boat-loads of gay young 
guests came down from Riverport, and all the 
gentry from Deephaven. The band from the fort 
played for the dancing, the garden was lighted, the 
card-tables were in this room, and a grand supper 
was served. She also remembered what some of 
her friends wore, and her own dress was a silver- 
gray brocade with rosebuds of three colors. She 
told us how she watched the boats go off up river 
in the middle of the summer night ; how sweet the 
music sounded ; how bright the moonlight was ; 
how she wished we had been there at her party. 

“ I can’t believe I am an old woman. It seems 
only yesterday,” said she, thoughtfully. And then 
she lost the idea, and talked about Kate’s great- 
grandmother, whom she had known, and asked us 
how she had been this summer. 

She asked us if we would like to go up stairs 
where she had a fire, and we eagerly accepted, 
though we were not in the least cold. Ah, what 
a sorry place it was ! She had gathered together 
some few pieces of her old furniture, which half 
filled one fine room, and here she lived. There 
was a tall, handsome chest of drawers, which I 
should have liked much to ransack. Miss Carew 
had told us that Miss Chauncey had large claims 


236 


DEEPHA VEN. 


against the government, dating back sixty or 
seventy years, but nobody could ever find the 
papers ; and I felt sure that they must be hidden 
away in some secret drawer. The brass handles 
and trimmings were blackened, and the w^ood 
looked like ebony. I w^anted to climb up and look 
into the upper part of this antiq\ie piece of furni- 
ture, and it seemed to me I could at once put my 
hand on a package of “ papers relating to the em- 
bargo.” 

On a stand near the window was an old Bible, 
fairly worn out with constant use. Miss Chauncey 
was religious ; in fact, it was the only subject about 
which she was perfectly sane. AVe saw almost 
nothing of her insanity that day, though afterward 
she was different. There were days w^hen her 
mind seemed clear; but sometimes she was si- 
lent, and often she would confuse Kate with Miss 
Brandon, and talk to her of long-forgotten plans 
and people. She would rarely speak of anything 
more than a minute or two, and then would drift 
into an entirely foreign subject. 

She urged us that afternoon to stay to luncheon 
with her ; she said she could not offer us dinner, 
but she would give us tea and biscuit, and no 
doubt we should find something in Miss Carew’s 


il//-S’6' CHAUNCEY. 


237 


basket, as she was always kind in remembering 
her fancies. Miss Honora had told us to decline, 
if she asked us to stay ; but I should have liked 
to see her sit at the head of her table, and to be a 
guest at such a lunch-party. 

Poor creature ! it was a blessed thing that her 
shattered reason made her unconscious of the 
change in her fortunes, and incapable of compar- 
ing the end of her life with its beginning. To her- 
self she was still Miss Chauncey, a gentlewoman 
of high family, possessed of unusual worldly ad- 
vantages. The remembrance of her cruel trials 
and sorrows had faded from her mind. She had 
no idea of the poverty of her surroundings when 
she paced back and forth, with stately steps, on 
the ruined terraces of her garden ; the ranks of 
lilies and the conserve-roses were still in bloom 
for her, and the box-borders were as trimly kept 
as ever; and when she pointed out to us the 
distant steeples of Riverport, it was plain to see 
that it was still the Riverport of her girlhood. 
If the boat-landing at the foot of the garden had 
long ago dropped into the river and gone out with 
the tide ; if the maids and men who used to do 
her bidding were all out of hearing ; if there had 
been no dinner company that day and no guests 


238 


DEEP HA VEN. 


were expected for the evening, — what did it mat- 
ter 1 The twilight had closed around her gradu- 
ally, and she was alone in her house, but she did 
not heed the ruin of it or the absence of her 
friends. On the morrow, life would again go on. 

We always used to ask her to read the Bible to 
us, after Mr. Lorimer had told us how grand and 
beautiful it was to listen to her. I shall never 
hear some of the Psalms or some chapters of 
Isaiah again without being reminded of her ; and 
I remember just now, as I write, one summer af- 
teiTioon when Kate and I had lingered later than 
usual, and we sat in the upper room looking out 
on the river and the shore beyond, where the 
light had begun to grow golden as the day drew 
near sunset. Miss Sally had opened the great 
book at random and read slowly, “ In my Father’s 
house are many mansions ” ; and then, looking off 
for a moment at a leaf which had drifted into 
the window-recess, she repeated it : “ In my Fa- 
ther’s house are many mansions ; if it were not so, 
I would have told you.” Then she went on slowly 
to the end of the chapter, and with her hands 
clasped together on the Bible she fell into a rev- 
erie, and the tears came into our eyes as we 
watched her look of perfect content. Through all 


MISS CEAUNQEY. 


239 


her clouded years the promises of God had been 
her only certainty. 

Miss Chauncey died early in the winter after 
we left Deephaven, and one day when I w^as visit- 
ing Kate in Boston Mr. Lorimer came to see us, 
and told us about her. 

It seems that after much persuasion she was 
induced to go to spend the winter with a neighbor, 
her house having become uninhabitable, and she 
was, beside, too feeble to live alone. But her 
fondness for her old home was too strong, and one 
day she stole away from the people who took care 
of her, and crept in through the cellar, where she 
had to wade through half-frozen water, and then 
went up stairs, where she seated herself at a 
front window and called joyfully to the people 
who went by, asking them to come in to see her, 
as she had got home again. After this she was 
very ill, and one day, when she was half delirious, 
they missed her, and found her at last sitting on 
her hall stairway, which she was too feeble to 
climb. She lived but a short time afterwards, 
and in her last days her mind seemed perfectly 
clear. She said over and over again how good 
God had always been to her, and slie was gentle, 
and unwilling to be a trouble to those who had 
the care of her. 


240 


DEEPHA VEN. 


Mr. Loriraer spoke of her simple goodness, and 
told us that though she had no other sense of 
time, and hardly knew if it were summer or win- 
ter, she was always sure when Sunday came, and 
always came to church when he preached at East 
Parish, her greatest pleasure seeming to be to give 
moi;ey, if there was a contribution. “She may 
be a lesson to us,” added the old minister, rever- 
ently ; “ for, though bewildered in mind, bereft of 
riches and friends and all that makes this world 
dear to many of us, she was still steadfast in her 
simple faith, and was never heard to complain of 
any of the burdens which God had given her.” 




LAST DAYS IN DEEPHAVEN. 

the summer was ended it was no 
w to us, for we were even more 
of Deephaven in the glorious au- 
tumn weather than we had ever been before. Mr. 
Lancaster was abroad longer than he had intended 
to be at first, and it was late in the season before 
we left. We were both ready to postpone going 
back to town as late as possible ; but at last it 
was time for my friend to re-establish the Boston 
housekeeping, and to take up the city life again. 
I must admit we half dreaded it : we were sur- 
prised to find how little we cared for it, and how 
well one can get on without many things which 
are thought indispensable. 

For the last fortnight we were in the house 
a good deal, because the weather was wet and 
dreaiy. At one time there was a magnificent 
storm, and we went every day along the shore in 
the wind and rain for a mile or two to see the fu- 
ll 



n 


p 


242 


DEEPHA VEN. 


rious great breakers come plunging in against the 
rocks. I never had seen such a wild, stormy sea 
as that ; the rage of it was awful, and the whole 
harbor was white with foam. The wind had 
blown northeast steadily for days, and it seemed 
to me that the sea never could be quiet and 
smooth and blue again, with soft white clouds 
sailing over it in the sky. It was a treacherous 
sea ; it was wicked ; it had all the trembling land 
in its power, if it only dared to send its gi'eat 
waves far ashore. All night long the breakers 
roared, and the wind howled in the chimneys, and 
in the morning we always looked fearfully across 
the surf and the tossing gray water to see if the 
lighthouse were standing firm on its rock. It 
was so slender a thing to hold its own in such a 
wide and monstrous sea. But the sun came out 
at last, and not many days afterward we went out 
with Danny and Skipper Scudder to say good by 
to Mrs. Kew. I have been some voyages at sea, 
but I never was so danced about in a little boat 
as I was that day. There was nothing to fear 
with so careful a crew, and w'e only enjoyed the 
roughness as we went out and in, though it took 
much manoeuvring to land us at the island. 

It was very sad work to us — saying good 


LAST DAYS IN DEEPHAVEN. 243 

by to our friends, and we tried to make be- 
lieve that we should spend the next summer 
in Deephaven, and we meant at any rate to go 
down for a visit. We were glad when the people 
said they should miss us, and that they hoped we 
should not forget them and the old place. It 
touched us to find that they cared so much for us, 
and we said over and over again how happy we 
had been, and that it was such a satisfactory sum- 
mer. Kate laughingly proposed one evening, as 
we sat talking by tlie fire and were particularly 
contented, that we should copy the Ladies of 
Llangollen, and remove ourselves from society and 
its di.stractions. 

“ I have thought often, lately,” said my friend, 
“ what a good time they must have had, and I 
feel a sympathy and friendliness for them which I 
never felt before. We could have guests when we 
chose, as we have had this summer, and we could 
study and grow very wise, and what could be 
pleasanter? But I wonder if we should grow very 
lazy if we stayed here all the year round ; village 
life is not stimulating, and there would not be 
much to do in winter, — though I do not believe 
that need be true ; one may be busy and useful in 
a)iy place.” 


244 


DEEPHA VEN. 


“ I suppose if we really belonged in Deephaven 
we should think it a hard fate, and not enjoy it 
half so much as we have this summer,” said I. 
“Our idea of happiness would be making long 
visits in Boston ; and we should be heart-broken 
when we had to come away and leave our lunch- 
parties, and symphony concerts, and calls, and 
fairs, the reading-club and the childrens’ hospital. 
We should think the people uncongenial and behind 
the times, and that the Ridge road was stupid and 
the long sands desolate ; while we remembered what 
delightful walks we had taken out Beacon Street 
to the three roads, and over the Cambridge Bridge. 
Perhaps we should even be ashamed of the dear 
old church for being so out of fashion. We should 
have the blues dreadfully, and think there was no 
society here, and wonder why we had to live in 
such a town.” 

“ What a gloomy picture ! ” said Kate, laughing. 
“ Do you know that I have understood something 
lately better than I ever did before, — it is that 
success and happiness are not things of chance 
with \is, but of choice. I can see how w^e might 
so easily have had a dull summer here. Of 
course it is our own fault if the events of our lives 
are hindrances ; it is we who make them bad or 


LAST DAYS IN DEBPHAVEN. 245 

good. Sometimes it is a conscious choice, but 
oftener unconscious. I suppose we educate our- 
selves for taking the best of life or the worst, do 
not you 1 ” 

“ Dear old Deephaven ! ” said Kate, gently, after 
we had been silent a little while. “ It makes me 
think of one of its own old ladies, with its clinging 
to the old fashions and its respect for what used 
to be respectable when it was young. I cannot 
make fun of what was once dear to somebody, and 
which realized somebody’s ideas of beauty or fitness. 

I don’t dispute the usefulness of a new, bustling, 
manufacturing town with its progressive ideas; 
but there is a simple dignity in a town like Deep- 
haven, as if it tried to be loyal to the traditions of 
its ancestors. It quietly accepts its altered circum- 
stances, if it has seen better days, and has no harsh 
feelings toward the places which have drawn away 
its business, but it lives on, making its old houses 
and boats and clothes last as long as possible.” 

“I think one cannot help,” said I, “having a 
different affection for an old place like Deep- 
haven from that which one may have for a newer 
town. Here — though there are no exciting his- 
torical associations and none of the veneration 
which one has for the very old cities and towns 


246 


DEEPHA VEN. 


abroad — it is impossible not to remember how 
many people have walked the streets and lived in 
the houses. I was thinking to-day how many girls 
might have grown up in this house, and that their 
places have been ours ; we have inherited their 
pleasures, and perhaps have carried on work which 
they began. We sit in somebody’s favorite chair 
and look out of the windows at the sea, and have 
our wishes and our hopes and plans just as they 
did before us. Something of them still lingers 
where their lives were spent. We are often re- 
minded of our friends who have died ; w'hy are 
we not reminded as surely of strangers in such a 
house as this, — finding some ti’ace of the lives 
which were lived among the sights we see and the 
things we handle, as the incense of many masses 
lingers in some old cathedral, and one catches the 
spirit of longing and prayer where so many heavy 
hearts have brought their burdens and have gone 
away comforted 1 ” 

“ When I first came here,” said Kate, “ it used 
to seem very sad to me to find Aunt Katharine’s 
little trinkets lying about the house. I have often 
thought of what you have just said. I heard Mrs. 
Patton say the other day that there is no pocket 
in a shroud, and of course it is better that we 


LAST DAYS IN DEEPHAVEN. 


247 


should carry nothing out of this world. Yet I 
can’t help wishing that it were possible to keep 
some of my worldly goods always. There are one 
or two books of mine and some little things which 
I have had a long time, and of which I have grown 
very fond. It makes me so sorry to think of their 
being neglected and lost. I cannot believe I shall 
forget these earthly treasures when 1 am in heaven, 
and I wonder if I shall not miss them. Is n’t it 
strange to think of not reading one’s Bible any 
more 1 I suppose this is a very low view of 
heaven, don’t you 1 ” And we both smiled. 

“ I think the next dwellers in this house ought 
to find a decided atmosphere of contentment,” said 
I. “ Have you ever thought that it took us some 
time to make it your house instead of Miss Bran- 
don’s 1 It used to seem to me that it was still 
under her management, that she was its mistress ; 
but now it belongs to you, and if I were ever to 
come back without you I should find you here.” 

It is bewildering to know that this is the last 
chapter, and that it must not be long. I remem- 
ber so many of our pleasures of which I have 
hardly said a word. There were our guests, of 
whom I have told you nothing, and of whom there 


248 


DEEPEAVEN. 


was so much to say. Of course we asked my Aunt 
Mary to visit us, and Miss Margaret Tennant, and 
many of our girl-friends. All the people we know 
who have yachts made the port of Deephaven 
if they were cruising in the neighboring waters. 
Once a most cheerful party of Kate’s cousins and 
some other young people whom we knew very 
well came to visit us in this way, and the yacht was 
kept in the harbor a week or more, while we were 
all as gay as bobolinks and went frisking about the 
country, and kept late hours in the sober old Bran- 
don house. My Aunt Mary, who was with us, and 
Kate’s aunt, Mrs. Thorniford, who knew the Carews, 
and was commander of the yacht-party, tried to 
keep us in order, and to make us ornaments to 
Deephaven society instead of reproaches and stum- 
bling-blocks. Kate’s younger brothers were with 
us, waiting until it was time for them to go back 
to college, and I think there never had been such 
picnics in Deephaven before, and I fear there never 
will be again. 

We are fond of reading, and w^e meant 'to do a 
great deal of it, as every one does who goes away 
for the summer ; but I must confess that our grand 
plans wei*e not well carried out. Our German 
dictionaries were on the table in the west parlor 


LAST DAYS IN DEEPHAVEN. 


249 


until the sight of them mortified us, and finally, 
to avoid their silent reproach, I put them in the 
closet, with the excuse that it would be as easy to 
get them there, and they would be out of the way. 
We used to have the magazines sent us from town ; 
you would have smiled at the box of books which 
we carried to Deephaven, and indeed we sent two 
or three times for others ; but I do not remember 
that we ever carried out that course of study which 
we had planned with so much interest. We were 
out of doors so much that there was often little 
time for anything else. 

Kate said one day that she did not care, in 
reading, to be always making new acquaintances, 
but to be seeing more of old ones ; and I think 
it a very wise idea. We each have our pet books ; 
Kate cari’ies with her a much-worn copy of “ Mr. 
Rutherford’s Children,” which has been her delight 
ever since she can remember. Sibyl and Chryssa 
are dear old friends, though I suppose now it is not 
merely what Kate reads, but what she associates 
with the story. I am not often separated fro'm 
Jean Ingelow’s “Stories told to a Child,” that 
charmingly wise and pleasant little book. It is 
always new, like Kate’s favorite. It is very hard 
to make a list of the books one likes best, but I 
11 * 


250 


DEEPHA VEN. 


remember that we had “ The Village on the Cliff,” 
and “ Henry Esmond,” and “ Tom Brown at Rug- 
by,” with his more serious ancestor, “ Sir Thomas 
Browne.” I am sure we had “Fenelon,” for we 
always have that ; and there was “ Pet Marjorie,” 
and “Rab,” and “Annals of a Parish,” and “The 
Life of the Reverend Sydney Smith.” ; beside Miss 
Ty tier’s “ Days of Yore,” and “ The Holy and 
Profane State,” by Thomas Fuller, from which 
Kate gets so much entertainment and profit. We 
read Mr. Emerson’s essays together, out of doors, 
and some stories which had been our dear friends 
at school, like “ Leslie Goldthwaite.” There was a 
very good library in the house, and we both like 
old books, so we enjoyed that. And we used to 
read the Spectator, and many old-fashioned stories 
and essays and sermons, with much more pleasure 
because they had such q\iaint old brown leather 
bindings. You will not doubt that we had some 
cherished volumes of poetry, or that we used to 
read them aloud to each other when we sat in our 
favorite comer of the rocks at the shore, or w'ere 
in the pine woods of an afternoon. 

We used to go out to tea, and do a great deal 
of social visiting, which was very pleasant. Din- 
ner-parties were not in fashion, though it was a 


LAST DAYS IN DEEPHAVEN. 


251 


great attention to be asked to spend the day, which 
courtesy we used to delight in extending to our 
friends ; and we entertained company in that way 
often. When we first went out we were somewhat 
interesting on account of our clothes, which w'ere 
of later pattern than had been adopted generally 
in Deephaven. We used to take great pleasure in 
arraying ourselves on high days and holidays, since 
when we went wandering on shore, or oiit sailing 
or rowing, we did not always dress as befitted our 
position in the town. Fish-scales and blackberry- 
briers so soon disfigure one’s clothes. 

We became in the course of time leanied in all 
manner of ’longshore lore, and even profitably em- 
ployed ourselves one morning in going clam-dig- 
ging with old Ben Horn, a most fascinating ancient 
mariner. We both grew so well and brown and 
strong, and Kate and I did not get tired of each 
other at all, which I think was wonderful, for few 
friendships would bear such a test. We were to- 
gether always, and alone together a great deal ; 
and we became wonderfully well acquainted. We 
are such good friends that we often were silent 
for a long time, when mere acquaintances would 
have felt compelled to talk aud try to entertain 
each other. 


252 


DEEPHA VEN. 


Before we left the leaves had fallen off all the 
trees except the oaks, which make in cold weather 
one of the dreariest sounds one ever hears ; a 
shivering rustle, which makes one pity the tree 
and imagine it shelterless and forlorn. The sea 
had looked rough and cold for many days, and the 
old house itself had grown chilly, — all the world 
seemed waiting for the snow to come. There w’as 
nobody loitering on the wharves, and when we 
went down the street we walked fast, arm in arm, 
to keep warm. The houses were shut up as 
close as possible, and the old sailors did not 
seem cheery any longer ; they looked forlorn, and 
it w^as not a pleasant prospect to be so long 
weather-bound in port.. If they ventured out, 
they put on ancient great-coats, with huge flaps 
to the pockets and large horn buttons, and they 
looked contemptuously at the vane, which always 
pointed to tlie north or east. It felt like winter, 
and the captains rolled more than ever as they 
walked, as if they were on deck in a heavy sea. 
The I’henmatism claimed many victims, and there 
w'as one day, it must be confessed, when a biting, 
icy fog was blown in-shore, that Kate and I were 
willing to admit that we could be as comfortable in 
town, and it was almost time for sealskin jackets. 


LAST DAYS IN DEEPHAVEN. 


253 


In the front yards we saw the flower-beds black 
with frost, except a few brave pansies which had 
kept green and had bloomed under the tall china- 
aster stalks, and one day we picked some of these 
little flowers to put between the leaves of a book 
and take away with us. I thiuk we loved Deep- 
haven all the more in those last days, with a bit 
of compassion in our tenderness for the dear old 
town which had so little to amuse it. So long a 
winter was coming, but we thought with a sigh 
how pleasant it -would be in the spring. 

You would have smiled at the treasures we 
brought away with us. We had become so fond 
of even our fishing-lines ; and this very day you 
may see in Kate’s room two great bunches 
of Deephaven cat-o’-nine-tails. They were much 
in our way on the journey home, but we clung 
affectionately to these last sheaves of our har- 
vest. 

The morning we came away our friends were all 
looking out from door or window to see us go by, 
and after we had passed the last house and there 
was no need to smile any longer, we were very 
dismal. The sun was shining again bright and 
warm as if the Indian summer were beginning, and 
we wished that it had been a rainy day. 


254 


DEEPHA VEN. 


The thought of Deephaven will always bring to 
us our long quiet summer days, and reading aloud 
on the rocks by the sea, the fresh salt air, and 
the glory of the sunsets; the wail of the Sunday 
psalm-singing at church, the yellow lichen that 
grew over the trees, the houses, and the stone-walls; 
our boating and wanderings ashore ; our impor- 
tance as members of society, and how kind every 
one was to us both. By and by the Deephaven 
warehouses will fall and be used for firewood by 
the fisher-people, and the wharves will he worn 
away by the tides. The few old gentlefolks who 
still linger will be dead then ; and I wonder if 
some day Kate Lancaster and I will go down to 
D^phaven for the sake of old times, and read the 
epitaphs in the burying-ground, look out to sea, 
and talk quietly about the girls who wei*e so happy 
there one summer long before. I should like to 
walk along the beach at sunset, and watch the 
color of the marshes and the sea change as the 
light of the sky goes out. It would make the old 
days come back vividly. We should see the roofs 
and chimneys of the village, and the great Chantrey 
elms look black against the sky. A little later the 
marsh fog would show faintly white, and we should 
feel it deliciously cold and wet against our hands 


LAST DAYS IN DEEPIIAVEN. 


255 


and faces; when we looked up there would be a 
star, the crickets would chirp loudlv ; perhaps 
some late sea-birds would fly inland. Turning, we 
should see the lighthouse lamp shine out over the 
w^ater, and the great sea would move and speak to 
us lazily in its idle, high-tide sleep. 



% 


« 




< 


• <\* 


4 





fa' 




;s?v 


Vv 


•j\ ff. 

J^l; 


• ■ i, " ;'V'.' ;,':v'wV . 


^ f 

J 




-f' ' 

» 1 A ' ' /• 


/t 



< 5 !>i 


t • t 
k I * 






A 


'ci*w 




/ 1 


i 


> > 


'■r^ 




* * 


\i 


- 'A' 


’T 




/ 


I 


» . 






>t t 


‘■jf 


. ^ > 


I 

^ *» 


1 ^' * '. ' '. ^•‘ \ 
A A ft J 



:vv 


r' t. • > 




» '• 


■ly ■ , / 


' .V 




* ■■'ll/ • 

c * - 


I 




- : ,♦. 


I j 



. <>»v 

;■• '. I * 1 

' \'V fJ 

■ y%\ .,4 •' 

f 


. \ . 


•) . 


.V 


,f> 

I 

A 


•V 

\ 


, ^ 






A » 




« » 


.' >^- r' -V.,^ 




>' 


V k 


' a.' 


;;y<’ 


» % 




• ■ y ■ •■' J 

■ ' s', « -s >' 

. . ■:• " >• ■ • ■ 


% ^ . 




r -tw s 

^ ^ % s 







* / 


/ \ 


0 • 

? 


I 

A •' 


ft I » 


• I « 






' _ X I »T . i’ ft 

1^' V 'V 


f> ' :{ 

* » . * 
. ' • ‘f . 


L 


J i i • 




■> ■ 


' 1 

4 

, ■' !'•' 

\ ' 


k * 


‘'■N ' 



« \ » 

• 1 .* 


» I 


g 

‘•I # 


I 


I N 


» » ^ 




f 1 


1- 




'. ’•• V->K I '. 

■ •■■ ,■>:■■ ;s.. 

. ■:^:^;^r■a'.v.;.^ 


> I ' 




L*. 








V I 

t 






U' 

^ f ^ ^ V 

m 


• ' V 


\V^ 

f .• • 


‘1 V 

.* ./ i ' 


S ' , ' 4 , ' ' M 

. ''‘V.'-. il i iv 

t . * 

\ 


•' .'Si- A ■■ 

iv 

r 


A\ 


4 

\ rs • ^ ♦ 

► i • ^\ . - 


' > ' ..■ 


I • 


■)■< 


'- • »/. 


k* • 


I 


itt \ 


‘ N 


:• > ’.. , H 


.A 




yl' 


V* ■•■ V. ,■ . 





. k 


< I I 




.. "tA ft . 

'V' y ■« 



'v • / ; V - 




j • 


^ - - 


i ^ 


St 


. 

J 

/ 


L- * 


I ♦ 


I 





/^ • 


< 


« 


« 




I 

'i -> 


• . *f‘ 


H 



Jrr.- IV .'» 

< * 




. \ 


;y 


• 



4 .. id 


i • 


i 6 


j * 

■ T» 


.{ 

\}\. 


\ 

' I 


• V 


- > X\U 



S < 


'A-?;: ' ‘ >‘-. 

*i-' I-..-.- ' • 


y 4 


^ . 


x^- K\-**y. 




-J ^ T ; - ' 

^s. 

’■). 'Vi. ^ 

-V-, 


/ 

I 




•< ‘4 

■ 7>‘ 


' r 

: ' "■;< 

• > ■ r ' . 


> ’ : ■'. 
'r • A ■ ' f.,; > >• 

•. V> ,y,^. . 


i . W • 




; ' i- ' 


* ^ 


t 


y • « 


4 i 




<*; 



* / •' 


pM ^ vf /*■ ' 

AV'/ ' *■ • " - 



4 




r I > 



I • 


■■ w • . .* (r » 

t ... • >*vi; 


. .V' ‘ 


I. io 


\ 






i 


.. •■. 


w .-'■<. » 

• I 4 < 


^ » 


“ - v"- . 

^ - r a ’ ' \' • 

i' V 


i. 


%v 


tmP 


. 4 

> 4 






r#^ 


>‘4;. 



^ : 

« 


lit 


t 

I 

k 




% 

^<1 


\j 











> 


. i 


\ 

« 


' «* 


; i 


-M 






V 


o % 


.)t 

» • 

•K 


\ 

» 4 »' * J 

t 


A»> 


•W 


> 

f* 


/ 


A 


fv. 



4 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



□ DOEnSS^^bb 

f 



